V 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



% UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 2 



NARRATIVE " 



REMARKABLE TRANSACTION 



IN THE EARLY LIFE OF 



JOHN WESLEY. 



FROM AN ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 

IN UTS OWN HANDWRITING, NEVER BEEORK PTJBETSIIED. 

SECOND EDITION. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED, 

A REVIEW OF THE WORK, 

BY THE LATE 

REV. JOSEPH HUNTER, F.S.A,, &c. 

LONDON: 
JOHN RUSSELL SMITE 

36, SOHO SQUARE. 

iI,D.CCC.LXII. 




p 



LONDON: 

Printed by F. Pickton, 
Perry's Place, 29, Oxford Street. 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 



It lias been stated in the title-page that the following Narrative 
is authenticated by J, Wesley's own hand- writing ; but the poetry 
appended to the Manuscript (which is a summary of the whole 
affair), is all that remains of the Original, the body of the work being 
a copy only. In further confirmation of the genuineness of this 
curious Tract it may be added, that the subordinate particulars 
tally, in a remarkable manner, with his own printed Journal, in 
illustration of which, it will suffice to confine ourselves to the first 
six pages of the Narrative. 

Herein he observes, Paragraph I, that he was in London in June, 
1748; in the Journal, "that he preached in Moor-fields and "on 
Sunday, 19th, the congregation in Moor ••fields was greatly in- 
creased." (Vol. II. p. 61.) 

Again, in Paragraph II, that " in August following he was taken 
ill at Newcastle;" in the Journal, "August 5, 1748, I preached 
about noon, at Horsley. As I rode home I found my head-ache 
increase much." 

" Saturday 6th, the pain was much worse than before." (Vol. II. 
p. 67.) 

In Paragraph VIII. of the Narrative, " We (i.e. himself and 
Grace Murray) passed several months together in Ireland/' 
According to his Journal he was in Ireland from 15th April to 
20th July, 1749. 

In Paragraph X., " We returned together to Bristol." " July 20th, 
1749," says the Journal, "on Monday morning we landed on the 
quay at Bristol." (Vol. II. p. 111.) 

In Paragraph XVI. he proceeds to say that, "We came to 
Newcastle the same evening (Sept. 6th) . The next day I wrote to 



it 



PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 



J. Bennet, as follows : " This is the sensible and temperate letter 
contained in pp. 8-10, and dated, of course, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 
Sept. 7, 1749;— and in the Journal we read, "Sept. 6, 1749, I 
reached Newcastle, and after resting a day, and preaching two 
evenings and two mornings, with such blessing as we have not often 
found, on Friday set out to visit the Northern Societies," which 
coincides with the Narrative, Paragraph XVIII. " Friday, Sept. 8th, 
we set out for Berwick, visiting all the intermediate Societies." 
We find, however, the name of John Bennet once only in the 
Journal, October 18, 1749. (Vol. II, p. 123.) 

To enumerate other coincidences, were supererogatory; but it may 
be added, that shortly after the unexpected union of Grace Murray 
with J. Bennet, John Wesley formed a matrimonial alliance with a 
lady of independent fortune, after having consulted one Mrs. P. 
upon this important step. 

In his Journal he announces his determination in the following 
words : — 

"Feb. 2, 1751. Having received a full answer from Mr. P — , 
I was clearly convinced that I ought to marry. For many years I 
remained single, because I believed I could be more useful in a 
single than in a married state ; and I praise God, who enabled me 
to do so." 

" I now as fully believed that in my present circumstcnaes I might 
be more useful in a married state, into which, upon a clear convic- 
tion and by the advice of my friends, I entered a few days after." 
(Vol. II. p. 179.) 

C. HOOK. 

4, Southampton Street, Camden Town. 



The First Edition of this narrative was published in 1848, but being out of print, 
I have been induced to reprint it, in consequence of having found among some manu- 
scripts I lately purchased of the Executor of the late Rev. Joseph Hunter, E.S.A. 
author of the Histories of Hallamshire, South Yorkshire, and many other esteemed 
historical and biographical works, — a Review of the work, in which he gives some par- 
ticulars of the Manuscript about whicli the late Mr. Hook was less explicit than was 
perhaps warranted. 

Sept. 20, 1861. J. R. S. 



NARRATIVE 




THE 



REV. JOHN WESLEY. 



WHAT THOU DOST, I KNOW NOT NOW, BUT I SHALL 
KNOW HEREAFTER. 

I. In June, 1748, we had a conference in London; several of 
our brethren then objected to the thoughts upon marriage, and in 
a full and friendly debate, convinced me that a believer might marry 
without suffering loss in his soul. 

II. In August following I was taken ill at Newcastle : Grace 
Murray attended me continually. I observed her more narrowly than 
ever before, both as to her temper, sense, and behaviour. I esteemed 
and loved her more and more ; and, when I was a little recovered, 
I told her, sliding into it I know not how, "If ever I marry, I 
think you will be the person." After some time I spoke to her 
more directly. She seemed utterly amazed, and said, " This is too 
great a blessing for me ; I can't tell how to believe it. This is all 
I could have wished for under heaven, if I had dared to wish for it." 

III. From that time I conversed with her as my own. The night 
before 1 left Newcastle, I told her, " I am convinced God has called 
you to be my fellow-labourer in the gospel. I will take you with 
me to Ireland in Spring. Now we must part for a time, but, if we 
meet again, I trust we shall part no more." She begged we might 
not part so soon, saying, " It was more than she could bear." Upon 
which I took her with me through Yorkshire and Derbyshire, where 
she was unspeakably useful both to me and to the Societies. I left 
her in Cheshire with John Bennet, and went on my way rejoicing. 

IV. Not long after, I received a letter from J. Bennet, and 
another from her. He desired my consent to marry her. She said 
" She believed it was the will of God." Hence I date her fall. 
Here was the first false step, which God permitted indeed, but not 
approved. I was utterly amazed, but wrote a mild answer to both, 
supposing they were married already. She replied in so affectionate 
a manner, that I thought the whole design was at an end. 

V. John Bennet afterwards told me, that on the very night after 



6 



NARRATIVE OF 



he had engaged to G. M., just after he lay down in bed and before 
he had slept at all, he saw her sitting as in deep distress. In the 
morning, instead of writing to me, he asked' her, " Is there not a 
contract between you and Mr. W. ? " Partly out of love to him, 
partly out of fear of exposing me, she replied, "There is not." 
This was doubtless another false step. He that standeth, let him 
take heed lest he fall ! 

VI. She felt the effects of this all the winter, being under rack- 
ing uncertainty of mind. When she received a letter from me, she 
resolved to live and die with me, and wrote to me just what she 
felt. When she heard from him, her affection for him revived, 
and she wrote to him in the tenderest manner. In February par- 
ticularly, she sent him word, " That if he loved her, he should meet 
her at Sheffield, for she was sent for to Ireland ; and, if he did not 
come now, she could not answer for what might follow." 

One cannot excuse her behaviour in all this time. Doubtless she 
should have renounced the one or other. But those who know 
human nature will pity her much ; at least, as much as they will 
blame her. 

VII. J. Bennet determined to meet her at Sheffield ; but, just 
as he was taking horse, one brought him word, that his brother-in- 
law was dead, and he must come away directly. So Grace Murray, 
seeing nothing of him, came on to Bristol. There I talked with 
her at large. She told me what had passed between her and J. 
Bennet, and seemed to think that contract was binding, but she was 
quite convinced it was not when I reminded her of what had passed 
before between her and me, adding that "till now all this had 
seemed to her a dream; nor could she possibly think, what I pro- 
posed would ever come to pass, and that the difficulty was the 
greater, because she could not consult with any living soul, for fear 
of betraying or displeasing me." 

VIII. We passed several months together in Ireland. I saw the 
work of God prosper in her hands : she lightened my burden more 
than can be expressed. She examined all the women in the smaller 
Societies and the believers in every place, She settled all the 
women -bands, visited the sick, prayed with the mourners, more and 
more of whom received remission of sins, during her conversation 
or prayer. Meantime she was to me both a servant and friend, as 
well as a fellow-labourer in the gospel. She provided everything 
I wanted. She told me with all faithfulness and freedom, if she 
thought anything amiss in my behaviour ; and (what I never saw 
in any other to this day), she knew how to reconcile the utmost 
plainness of speech with such deep esteem and respect, as I often 
trembled at, not thinking it was due to any creature, and to join 
with the most exquisite modesty a tenderness not to be expressed. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



7 



IX. The more we conversed together, the more I loved her; and, 
before I returned from Ireland we contracted by a contract de 
prmenti. All this while she neither wrote to J. Bennet, nor he to 
her; so the affair between them was as if it had never been. 

X. We returned together to Bristol. It was there or at Kings- 
wood that she heard some idle tales concerning me and Molly 
Francis. They were so plausibly related that she believed them, 
and in a sudden vehement fit of jealousy wrote a loving letter to 
John Bennet. Of this she told me next day in great agony of 
mind ; but it was too late ; his passion revived, and he wrote her 
word " he would meet her when she came into the North. 33 

XI. We came to London. Talking with an intimate acquaint- 
ance there, she hinted at a distance, that Mr, W. loved her. E, 
Md. replied, " Sister M., never think of it. I know you thro'ly. 
It would never do. The people here would not suffer you; and 
your spirit would not bear their behaviour. You have not humility 
enough, or meekness, or patience. You would be miserable all 
your life, and that would make him miserable too ; so that instead 
of strengthening, you would weaken his hands. If you love your- 
self, or if you love him, never think of it more/' 

XII. This sunk deep, and the more, because she durst not tell 
me of it. Soon after we set out for the North. At Epsworth, in 
Lancashire, J. Bennet met us. I was beginning to speak to him 
freely. But when he told me, " she had sent him all my letters," 
with several other circumstances of the same kind, all which I then 
believed to be true, I stopped and said no more. I saw, if these 
things were so, he had the best right to her ; so I thought it better 
to bear the blame than to lessen his affection for her. I judged it 
right that they should marry without delay, and wrote her word in 
the morning, " I thought it was not proper she and I should con- 
verse any more together." 

XIII. She ran to me in an agony of tears, and begged me " not 
to talk so, unless I designed to kill her." She uttered many other 
tender expressions. I was distressed exceedingly. Before I was 
recovered, J. Bennet came in. He claimed her as his right. I 
was stunned and knew not what to say, still thinking, " She loves 
him best; and why should I speak, to lay a ground of future 
uneasiness between them ? 33 Compassion, likewise, and love to her, 
swayed me much, observing she was sorrowful almost to death, and 
fearing if each insist on his claim it will be cutting her in sunder. 
She can never survive it ; she will die in the contest. So I again 
determined to give her up. 

XIV. In this purpose I went home. I felt no anger, no mur- 
muring, or repining; but deep anguish of spirit from a piercing 
conviction of the irreparable loss I had sustained. I had no design 



8 



NARRATIVE OF 



to converse with her any more, but, about two, one brought me 
word, " Sister Murray is exceeding ill ; she is obliged to keep her 
bed." I then believed it right to visit her. When I came, she 
told me in plain terms, " My dear Sir, how can you possibly think 
I love any other better than you ! I love you a thousand times 
better than I ever loved J. B. in my life. But I am afraid if I 
don't marry him he will run mad." She showed a letter he had 
just sent her which confirmed that fear. In the evening he came 
himself ; and then he on the one side and David Trathen on the 
other, continued urging her, telling her they would not go all night 
unless they had an answer, till at length she said, " I will marry 
J. Bennet." 

XV. The next morning she told me what had passed. I was 
more perplexed than ever. As I now knew she loved me, and as 
she was contracted to me before, I knew not whether I ought to let 
her go. For several days I was utterly unresolved, till on Wednes- 
day, Sept. 6th, I put it home to herself, " Which will you choose ? " 
she declared again and again, " I am determined by conscience as 
well as inclination to live and die with you." 

XVI. We came to Newcastle the same evening. The next day 
I wrote to J. Bennet as follows : — 

Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Sept. 7, 1749. 

My dear Brother, 

1. The friendship between you and me has continued long. I pray God 
it may continue to our lives' end. 

But if I love you, I must deal plainly with you ; and surely you desire I 
should. Oh ! that you would consider what I say with meekness and love, 
and with earnest continual prayer to God. ^ 

2. You expressed a willingness, some years ago, to be one of my helpers 
in the work of the gospel. I gladly received you into the number, and you 
objected to none of the rules whereby they act ; if you had, you might have 
continued at your own place, in friendship, though not in union, with me. 

S. As one of my helpers, I desired you, three years ago, to assist me at 
Newcastle. In my house there I had placed a servant, whom I had tried 
several years, and found faithful in all things. Therefore I trusted her in 
the highest degree, and put her in the highest office that any woman can bear 
amongst us. 

4. Both by the nature and rules of your office you were engaged to do 
nothing of importance without consulting me. She was likewise engaged by 
the very nature of hers, as well as by the confidence I reposed in her, to 
consult me in all things; to take no step of any moment without my know- 
ledge and consent. Over and above which, she was peculiarly engaged 
hereto by her own voluntary and express promise. 

5. Notwithstanding this, you were scarcely out of my house when, without 
ever consulting me, you solicited her to take a step of the last importance, 
without my consent or knowledge. You, whom I had trusted in all things, 



JOHN WESLEY. 



9 



thus betrayed your trust, and moved her to do so too. You, to whom I had 
done no wrong, wronged me, and that in an uncommon manner. You endea- 
voured, at a time when I least expected it, to rob me of a most faithful and 
most useful servant ; the fellow, to whom for the work committed to her care, 
I knew not whom to find in the three kingdoms. 

6. Last Autumn I observed her more narrowly, and perceived she was such 
a person as I had in vain sought for many years, and then determined never 
to part with. I told her this, but told her withal, " I could not as yet 
proceed any farther, because I could do nothing without consulting my 
brother, as he had done nothing without consulting me." She answered, " It 
was so great a blessing that she knew not how to believe it ; it seemed all as 
a dream." I repeated it again, and there was no shadow of objection made. 

7. I told her farther, " I am convinced it is not the will of God that you 
should be shut up in a corner ; I am convinced you ought to labour with me 
in the gospel. I therefore design to take you to Ireland in Spring. Now 
we must separate for a season, but if we meet again I trust we shall part no 
more." And from this time I looked upon her as my own, and resolved that 
nothing but death should part us. 

8. Three days after I left her, you, without ever consulting me, solicited 
her again, and in a few days more prevailed upon her to comply and promise 
marriage to you. 

9. That very night God warned you, in a vision or dream, of one who had 
a prior right, but whom at your instance she pushed away, yet you construed 
it in quite another manner. 

10. However, thus far you went: you asked her, instead of me, whether 
there was* " any such engagement." Partly out of fear, partly out of love 
blinding her eyes, she replied ic there was not." And 'tis true there was not 
so explicit an engagement as would stand good in law, but such an one there 
was as ought in conscience to have prevented any other, till it should be 
dissolved. 

11. Upon her return from Ireland, God again interposed by mean3 of those 
who were near you, but you construed this likewise your own way. You 
rushed forward, and by vehement importunity forced her tender and compas- 
sionate mind to promise you again. 

12. Now, my brother, pray earnestly to God that he would show you and 
me what is right in this matter. Was not your very first step wrong ? Was 
it acting faithfully, even as a friend, to move such a thing without my consent 
and knowledge ? Was it not much more wrong, considering you as an 
helper? who as such ought to do nothing without my advice. Were you 
not hereby tempting her likewise to do extremely wrong, who was engaged 
not only as a friend, but much more as a housekeeper, to take no step without 
first consulting me ? Was not all this unjust and unkind, a3 well as trea- 
cherous and unfaithful ? 

13. Was the second step any better than the first? The soliciting her in 
Derbyshire to act without the consent of a father, and more than a father ? 
The endeavouring to rob your brother and your friend of his faithful servant, 
of the fellow-labourer in the gospel whom he had been forming to his hand 
for ten years ? Was this consistent either with gratitude or friendship ? 
Nav, with common justice or humanity ? 

2 



10 



NARRATIVE OF 



14. Was the third step any better than the rest, the extorting that second 
promise ? I doubt still whether a thousand promises can bind to a thing 
evil and wrong in itself. Oh ! that you would take Scripture and reason for 
your rule, instead of blind and impetuous passsion ! I can say no more, — 
only this — you may tear her away by violence, but my consent 1 cannot, dare 
not give : nor I fear can God give you His blessing. 

This Wm. Shent promised to deliver with his own hand, but it 
was not delivered at all. 

XVII. In the after noon, without any importunity or constraint, 
she wrote a letter to John Bennet. The purport of it was, " That 
she was more and more convinced both he and she had sinned 
against God, in entering on any engagement at all without Mr. 
W/s knowledge and consent." 

XVIII. Friday, Sept. 8th, we set out for Berwick, visiting all 
the intermediate Societies. Every hour gave me fresh proof of her 
usefulness on the one hand and her affection on the other. Yet I 
could not consent to her repeated request, to marry immediately. 
I told her before this could be done it would be needful : 1 . To 
satisfy J. Bennet ; 2. To procure my brother's consent ; and 3. To 
send an account of the reasons on which I proceeded to every 
helper and every Society in England, at the same time desiring 
their prayers. She said she should not be willing to stay above a 
year. I replied, " Perhaps less time will suffice." 

XIX. While we were at Berwick, I wrote down a short account 
of the more remarkable passages of her life. Oh ! how has God 
fed thee with the bread of adversity and with water of affliction ! 
This endeared her to me more than before, and at the same time 
strongly inclined me to believe, that this severe discipline was 
designed to prepare her for a comforter of many a mother in Israel. 

XX. That account is as follows : — 

1. I was born on January 18, 1715-16, in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. 
My parents feared God, but were much distracted with worldly 
cares and business. My father spoke to me early of the things of 
God, which began to make an impression upon me when I was 
scarcely four years old, so that I was soon taken notice of for un- 
common seriousness. This was the more observed because my 
brothers and sisters were little concerned about religion. When I 
was about four years old, I dreamt I saw God sitting upon His 
Throne, coming down to judge the world. I was much terrified, 
till I thought He smiled upon me, on which my fears vanished 
away. From that time the thoughts of death and judgment were 
often strong upon my mind, which made me earnest to serve God, 
and careful to avoid whatever I believed to be displeasing to Him. 

2. About six, I began to love going to church. I likewise loved 



NARRATIVE OF 



11 



reading the Bible, and frequently read six or seven chapters together 
when I read or heard of the sufferings of Christ. I often was 
deeply affected, though I considered him only as a good man who 
had suffered wrongfully. In reading the Epistles of St. Paul, I 
many times stopped and said, " I don't understand this ; what does 
it mean?" But there was none to inform me, so that I was 
obliged to rest contented. 

3. When I was about seven years old, as I was one day in St. 
Andrew's Church, I felt my soul overpowered with the love of God. 
And I loved all mankind. All my affections seemed changed. I 
wanted to be there always. These impressions remained upon my 
mind for a long time, and indeed were never wholly effaced. But 
the love of God revived in me from time to time, though I knew 
nothing of the truth as it is in Jesus. 

4. In the meanwhile, I found a continual desire of doing good 
to all, especially to the poor. From this principle I gave away 
whatever money was given me, and anything else which I could 
spare ; and indeed more, at some times than I ought to have done, 
when I took bread or meat, even without the knowledge of my 
mother, to feed one or two of our poor neighbours, who I knew 
were ready to perish. 

5. I believe I might have been between eight and nine years old 
when I was sent to the Dancing-school. The company here wore 
away, by swift degrees, whatever God had wrought in my soul. 
My love and desire of heavenly things cooled and abated more and 
more ; and I began to love dress, company, and diversions (so-called) 
of every kind. Yet for some years I retained my love of going to 
church, till about fourteen or fifteen this also gave place, and 
I used to spend a considerable part of the Lord's day in walking in 
the fields. 

6. When I was about sixteen, I fell into an acquaintance with a 
young man, whose affections were soon fixed upon me. By this 
means I grew still cooler and cooler to the things of God. I con- 
versed with him about two years ; at the end of which he much 
pressed me to marriage. But to this I was utterly averse, so that 
by being importuned by him on the one hand, and by my father on 
the other, I determined to escape from both and go to my sister in 
London. 

7. I came to London in the beginning of the summer, 1734. After 
staying a month with my sister, I went into a service, where I was 
used more like a child than a servant. Here I went frequently to 
church, but never to the sacrament, thinking I was not worthy. 
But indeed, I did not think much about it, being swallowed up in 
worldly pleasures and diversions, and having rarely any serious 
thoughts concerning the world to come. 



12 



NARRATIVE OF 



8. On the 13th of May, 1736, I was married to Mr. Murray. In 

three or four days he went to sea, and stayed about ten or eleven 
months. Soon after he was gone, I went down to my father's, 
seeking rest, but finding none. My husband was always before my 
eyes, and engrossed all my thoughts. My continual fretting was 
the occasion of my miscarrying. Upon his return to London, I 
immediately went up to him, where I was with him four months, 
before he went to sea again : utterly thoughtless of God ; as having 
given my heart to the creature rather than the Creator. 

9. He left me with child again \ but returned some weeks before 
I was brought to bed. In my labour I found myself afraid to die, 
and yet had a trust in God. But when I recovered, my husband 
again had my heart, and banished all other thoughts. The next 
year he sent for me down to Portsmouth, where we lodged at a 
gentlewoman's house who went constantly to church and sacrament, 
and had prayers in her house thrice a-day. This put me upon 
serious reflections on my past and present life, and upon earnest 
prayer, that God would enable me to serve him, and supply in me 
whatever he saw was wanting. 

10. The desires and resolution which were now wrought in my 
soul, never wholly died away. As I was returning, some weeks 
after, to London, I saw large numbers of people flocking together 
upon Kennington Common. I asked what was the matter ; and 
was answered, a gentleman, one Mr. Whitefield, was going to preach 
there. I had a great desire to hear him ; but my husband being 
unwilling, I would not disoblige him. However, that desire never 
left me, though I could give little reason for it. 

11. In a month my husband went to sea, and a fortnight after, 
my child died. As I looked at her laid out upon the table, the 
thoughts of death seized strongly upon me. This was followed by 
a strange lowness of spirits. Every thing looked dark and gloomy. 
I could take pleasure in nothing ; nor could any company divert 
me. My sister strove to divert me as much as she could ; but it 
was all in vain. At last I told her, " I think it is my soul ; " at 
which she broke out in amazement: "Nay, if your soul is not 
safe, who have lived so harmless, what will become of me ? " But 
notwithstanding all she could say or do, my heaviness increased 
more and more. 

12. While I was in this state, a young woman sent to me one 
day, to ask, if I would go with her to " hear Mr. Whitefield preach." 
I gladly consented, and went with her to Blackheath. Several 
persons were sitting on the Mount, and singing. My heart was 
melted down as soon as I heard them, and I felt a sweetness I had 
never felt before. I looked up and wondered where I was. When 
Mr. W. came, I thought there was something in his look, which I 



JOHN WESLEY, 



13 



had never seen. He preached on John iii. 8 ; I listened, and liked 
all I heard : but I understood it not. However, I found my heart 
wholly drawn towards God, and I began to seek Him with all my 
strength. 

13. I went to hear him again on the three following days ; on the 
last of which he preached his farewell sermon. When he was gone 
away, in order to embark for Georgia, I was utterly disconsolate 
again. I wept much in secret; I walked up and down ; but could 
find no comfort. I spent much time in the church-yard, reading 
the inscriptions on the tomb-stones, and then standing and crying 
over my child's grave. My sister laboured more than ever to divert 
me, fearing I should lose my senses. 

14. The next Saturday the young woman sent to me again, to 
tell me that Mr. Wesley was come, and was to preach in the fields 
the next morning. I slept little that night. I rose at three, and 
about four set out, though I knew not where Moorfields was. I 
overtook a woman going thither, who showed me the way. When 
Mr. W. stood up, and looked round on the congregation, I fixed 
my eyes upon him, and felt an inexpressible conviction, that he was 
sent of God. And when he spoke these words, " Except a man be 
born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God/ 5 they went through 
me like a dart, and I cried out, " Alas ! What shall I do ? How 
shall I be born again ? " After the sermon, a young woman (Maria 
Price) seeing me all in tears, asked, " What is the matter with 
you? " I said " I don't know." She said, "I will tell you; the 
hammer of God's love is breaking your heart ; only follow on to 
know the Lord." She spoke many other sweet words. I went 
home a mere sinner, now knowing what I wanted, — an atonement 
for my sins. 

15. My understanding was now opened, so that I comprehended 
all I heard, as much as if I had studied it several years ; and from 
this time I omitted no opportunity of attending the preaching in 
every place. After 1 had done this for above two months, as I was 
one evening walking home, it came strongly into my mind, " Beware 
of false prophets ; How do you know but these are the men ? " I 
came home in great trouble, cried earnestly to God, to show me the 
right way ; and then gave myself up to search the scriptures. In 
doing which, I was so fully satisfied the doctrine was of God, that 
I could no longer entertain a moment's doubt concerning it. 

16. My convictions continually increased, till the night Mr. W. 
preached his last sermon at Fetter-lane, before his return to Bristol. 
I heard it ; but my heart was as hard as a stone, so that I was quite 
amazed at myself. As I stepped off the bench, in order to go home, 
suddenly I was struck down and fell to the ground. I felt as if my 
heart was bound round as with an iron girdle. 



14 



NARRATIVE OF 



17. The next afternoon, just as Mr. W. began his sermon at 
Pankridge, 1 I was taken in the same manner. I felt the wrath of 
God abiding on me. I conld now neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, 
nor do any kind of business. I mourned day and night, till one 
advised me to read the third chapter of Jeremiah. While I was 
reading, I found a hope springing up, that God would have mercy 
upon me, which never ceased from that hour, though meanwhile I 
was sensible as ever of my lost estate. 

18. Mr. W. went out of town on Monday. On the Monday 
following, about noon, I was sitting in my own house with Maria 
Price, reading the 5th Chapter of the Romans, when in a moment 
all things became new. I seemed to have new eyes, and a new 
understanding. I saw all I read in a new light. My burthen 
dropped off ; my soul was in peace. My tears were all gone, and I 
said to her, " Now I know God is my God, and He has forgiven 
my Bins." She replied, " Then be sure you hold fast your confi- 
dence." It was not long before I found her caution needful, it 
being strongly suggested, u how could it be that God should forgive 
such a sinner ? 33 This threw me into an agony of prayer ; in which 
I had not continued long, before I cried, " Now I know God is my 
God; I know for Christ's sake He has forgiven me ; I care not if 
all the devils in hell and all the men upon earth were to deny it." 

19. I could not conceal what God had done. I went and told 
my sister, but she desired I would keep my madness to myself, and 
not make her mad too. Yet I could not refrain from declaring the 
goodness of God, wherever I came, whether they would hear or 
forbear. I could even have gone into the streets, to call sinners to 
repentance, and proclaim the Saviour of sinners. I had an insatiable 
thirst for the salvation of all men; which constrained me to stop 
any loose women I met ; and even to seek them at their houses, 
and beseech them to turn to God. 

20. One day, Mrs. Harvey desired me to go with her, and see a 
poor man that was near death. I asked him, " are you afraid to 
die ? 33 He replied, " O yes ! for I am a vile sinner ; I have com- 
mitted all manner of sins ; I am lost ; I am going to hell." I said, 
" But Christ died for you, and has borne all your sins." He 
answered, " What, Christ die for me ! 73 After speaking a few words, 
I went to prayer ; and he broke out, "He did, he did ! I feel he 
did ! " and died singing praises to God. 

21. For four months I went on rejoicing, and praising God, and 
finding it my meat and drink to do His will, though I had now and 
then some doubts ; but they continued not, nor interrupted my 
peace or love. I was then one day making my bed, with my heart 

1 Pankeidge, now called Panceas, probably near the spot in Tottenham Court 
Road, where Whitefield's chapel now stands. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



15 



full of prayer, when the power of God fell upon me, and I cried out 
"My Father, my Father ! " and dropped down to the ground. I 
saw (but in a manner no tongue can express) God the Father looking 
upon me through His Son, as if I had never committed any 
sin. I saw the Son as one with the Father, and yet distinct 
from Him. My soul went up in an even stream to God. I saw 
Him indeed gracious and merciful, and was filled with such a 
reverential love, as it had not entered into my heart to conceive. 
And this glorious light was always before my eyes for more than a 
year ; so that I walked as on the clouds, and trod both sin and 
temptation under foot. 

22. During this time I was informed my husband was taken by 
the Spaniards. I calmly replied, " The will of God be done ! " I 
went into my chamber, and was pouring out my soul in prayer, 
when I saw (as in a vision) my husband pursued by his enemies, 
but escaping from them. I could have no doubt but it was so ; I 
felt no fear ; but left him in the hands of God. 

23. When he returned, he sent me down to the ship. Almost 
as soon as I came on board, I heard several cursing and swearing ; 
which I could not bear. After a time, I heard my husband swear. 
I told him, " My dear, you must not swear before me." He stared; 
but said nothing. I added, " I cannot stay here ; "'tis like a hell to 
me/' He said, " What is come to you ; what ! are you got con- 
verted?-" I replied, "You have need to be converted too/'' We 
went home, and after a while, he went to see my brother and sister, 
who told him, " We are glad to see you ; but we are sorry for you 
on account of your poor mad wife. She goes to hear those 
Methodists ! " He came back to me, and asked if I heard Mr. 
Whitefield ? I answered, " I did, till he went away ; now I hear 
Mr. Wesley." He swore I should hear him no more. I replied, 
" You are the lord of my body ; but Christ is the Lord of my soul. 
If I were to yield to you in this, I should lose my soul; and my 
blood would be upon your head." He stamped and raved and 
swore, " you shall leave them, or me." I answered, " I love you 
above any one on earth ; but I will leave you and all that I have, 
sooner than I will leave Christ." 

24. He went to my brother again, to consult what was to be 
done, and told me, on his return, " You are utterly distracted, and 
I am determined to send you to the mad-house in West Gardens. 
It is for your own sake as well as mine. You have made me unhappy 
and yourself too." I replied, " I am not unhappy, I never was so 
happy in my life ; I never knew what happiness meant, till I heard 
Mr. Wesley. I am ready to go not only to prison, but to death ; 
I know in whom I have believed ; I am confident He would give me 
[strength] to confess Him to the flames ! " He walked to and fro, 



16 



NARRATIVE OF 



and said, " Can you leave me then? " I said, " Rather than leave 
Christ." He said, " Then to the mad-house you must go." So he 
turned and went away. 

25. I immediately fell to prayer, and had a confidence given me, 
that he could not proceed. In a quarter of an hour he came back 
and said, " I cannot bear to put you in a mad-house, but neither 
can I bear to see your utter ruin. You have almost ruined your- 
self already ; and if you are resolved to go on thus, I will leave you ; 
I will go as far as ships can sail." I told him, " I cannot help it; 
I could lay down my life for you ; but I cannot destroy my soul. 
If you are resolved to go, you must go : I give you up to God." 

26. Perceiving he could not prevail by this means, he soon after 
tried another. He gave me good words, offered me whatever I 
would have, and endeavoured, by all manner of persuasions, to 
make me keep to my church, and leave these people. But herein 
also God was my helper. He then stayed at home, on purpose to 
keep me there. But one afternoon I asked him to let me go out. 
He said, "What, to the Foundry?" I answered, « Yes." He 
replied, " No indeed ! he never would." Yet, in less than an hour 
he said, " Go ; but you will see what will follow." When I came 
thither, the people flocked round me, and exhorted me to remain 
steadfast. And God greatly refreshed me, and exhorted me to re- 
main steadfast. And God greatly refreshed me, so that I went 
home, full of joy and prayer, and thanksgiving. I found my hus- 
band at the door ; but God had softened his heart, so that he gave 
me not one harsh word. 

27. Soon after I fell sick, and in a few days kept my bed. He 
would fain have had a physician ; but I would not. I would gladly 
have conversed with some of the children of God, but this he would 
not consent to. He asked one day, if I would have him read by 
me. I said, " With all my heart." He read, till the tears came 
down his cheeks, and he said, " Send for whom you have a mind."' 
Mrs. Holton came up stairs just then. The very sight of her 
refreshed me. 

28. She left me one of Mr. Whiten* eld's journals. He came in, 
took it up, and opened where it is said, " I know God has forgiven 
me my many and great sins : but I cannot forgive myself." The 
tears started into his eyes, and he said thus, " If these good men 
talk so, what must I do ? for I am a sinner indeed." I clapt my 
hands, and began praying earnestly for him. He went on, " I think 
you are in the right ; I fear I have been fighting against God. If 
it please God to raise you up again, I will never hinder you more." 

29. From this time he was more and more convinced of sin ; he 
searched the scriptures much, willingly heard me read and talk, as 
I was able, of the things of God. He gladly received any that 



JOHN WESLEY. 



17 



feared God, listened to them with deep attention, and desired 
nothing so much, as to know Jesus Christ and Him crucified. 

30. I was all this time weak in body ; but my soul was full of 
love, and peace, and power. In the year 1740, the apothecary told 
my husband, if anything could recover me, it would be my native 
air. Upon this, he pressed me to go down to Newcastle. 

31. Here I received a letter from my sister, informing me 
that my husband had been taken by the Spaniards ; but was now 
in Yarmouth Road, returning home. This was in November; just 
then was the great storm. In the midst of which my mother told 
me, c: You must not expect to see your husband any more." I 
answered, " The will of the Lord be done ! " and found my soul in 
perfect peace. But I continued instant in prayer, and in a few days 
it was clearly shown me he would return ; and I said to my mother 
one morning, " This day I shall see my husband." About four in 
the afternoon he knocked at the door. I dropped down, but soon 
rose again, and praised God, 

32. Three days after, my father was taken ill. I was thoroughly 
convinced he would not recover. He lay sick about eight days. On 
the eighth day I was above stairs, when the power of God came upon 
me in an uncommon manner, with those words, " It is finished, it 
is done." I went down immediately, and found him quietly resigning 
his spirit into the hands of God. 

33. In the beginning of the year 1741, we returned to London. 
I was brought to bed in May following. My husband followed the 
home-trade, that he might be with me, till my time was over. A 
day or two after I was delivered, a, neighbour came in, but seemed 
afraid to speak. I told her, " Don't be afraid ; I know what is the 
matter ; my husband is pressed ; God's will be done ! " She seemed 
amazed ; but it was no burden to me. I knew not then what 
murmuring meant. I never felt any discontent or anger, nor re- 
pining at God or man. 

34. In August my husband sailed for Virginia. I went down 
to him to the ship at Deptford, and stayed with him two or three 
days. He saw that I was uneasy, and said " My dear, I see you 
can't bear this place. You shall go home ; I will set you forward." 
As we were walking, he said, " I am a great sinner ; commend me 
to the prayers of your people." I then found great power to speak 
to his heart ; he wept much, till we were forced to part. After going 
a little way from me, he came back and said he knew not how to 
leave me. He went on with me awhile; I "felt an uncommon 
weight, and the same was on him likewise. But still I could give 
him up to God, without one discontented thought. 

35. I felt a daily increase of peace and love, till the latter end of 
May, 1742. About that time I was one night just laid down, when 

3 



18 



NARRATIVE OF 



I felt a weight come upon my feet. I thought the cat had come 
upon me, and strove to push her off. Presently I felt it rising 
higher and higher by my side, till it seemed to lie by me the full 
length of a man. I felt an awe, but no fear, praying continually, 
and knowing I was in the hands of God. After a few minutes it 
rolled off, and fell upon the ground. I fell asleep, and dreamed I 
saw my husband lying in his coffin. I cried and asked, " Will you 
not speak to me ? " He just lifted up his eyes, and shut them 
again. 1 I awoke in great trouble, and slept again, and dreamed 
the same dream. When I awoke, I was convinced my husband was 
dead ; but I was so filled with God, that at this time nothing could 
disturb or interrupt my happiness in Him. 

36. The ship did not return (from Virginia) till October following. 
I had been visiting one that was sick, being full of love, and 
trampling upon all below, when a messenger told me, " The Prince 
Frederick was in the river." I hastened home, having my soul 
stayed on God. Presently after, the cook's wife came in, and said, 
"Mrs. Murray, I have been on board the ship, and I saw your 
husband well." I said, " No ; my husband is not in the ship ; but 
let us take a boat, and go aboard." My sister and I did so. When 
we came alongside, the wife of one of the sailors cried out, " Mrs. 
Murray, do not come here ; go ashore, pray go ashore." As we 
were walking up the stairs, she said to my sister, " Mr. Murray is 
drowned." I turned and said, " I hear what you say." But my 
soul was in peace ; I felt the everlasting arms of God were around 
me. 

37. When I came home I was still in peace ; but after a time I 
took my eye off God, and began to consider how tender a husband 
he had been, and how he used to look and talk with me. Then 
Satan gained an advantage over me, and I shrieked out, " What, 

must I see him no more ! " As soon as I was able, I wrote to 

my mother, and told her of my husband's death. In her answer 
she advised me to come to Newcastle. I asked Mr. Wesley's advice. 
He told me he was going thither himself, and should be glad to 
meet me there. 

38. I sailed from London at the end of October, and came to 
Newcastle a few days before Mr. Wesley. John Brydon came fre- 
quently to me at my mother's ; but it was no temptation to me. 
God had restored my peace ; and I desired nothing but Him. I 
endeavoured to improve my time, by speaking to every one I could, 
either at Horsley or the neighbouring villages, as well as by praying 
with those of the Society. And God was with us of a truth. Many 

1 A remarkable, but. not uncommon, presentment of a catastrophe, which was too 

soon found to be true. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



19 



were convinced of sin ; James Watson and some others receiving 
remission of sins. 

39. Mr. Downes used till now to read in the Society. I asked 
him, " Will you not give us a word of exhortation ? " He said, " I 
dare not." I replied; " Let us go to prayer ; I will ask of God to 
open your mouth." I found great enlargement of heart in prayer. 
In the evening he expounded our Lord's word to the Samaritan 
woman. And from this time he found no want of words ; neither 
were his words without a blessing. 

40. I came back to Newcastle about Christmas, where I had 
been but a day or two, when I was sent for to Tanfield-Leigh. 
After the sermon, I prayed with many of the Society, and four 
received remission of sins. The next day I went to Tanfield, and 
met most of the Society, and God broke many of our hearts in pieces. 
During all this time I had settled peace, a full confidence in God, 
a burning zeal for His glory, a vehement desire to spend and be 
spent for all men. But I had not that love and comfort in God, 
that clear intercourse with Him, neither that power to behold Him 
with open face which I had so long enjoyed. 

41. I was soon after appointed leader of several classes at New- 
castle, till Mr. Wesley advised me to go to London, and bring down 
what I thought the best of my goods, that I might live altogether 
at his house. Accordingly, I had agreed on my passage, and was 
going down to Shields, to take ship, when a note was delivered to 
me from Mr. W., desiring I would stay at London when I was there. 
I was in amaze ; I went up straight to Mr. W., and asked, what 
was the matter. He immediately took me with him to S. Jack- 
son's, who accused me of speaking many things against her before 
John Brydon and several others. Mr. W. had them all face to 
face, and they wholly acquitted me of the charge. However, I 
retired to my mother's, and came no more to Mr. Wesley's, though 
I constantly attended both morning and evening preaching. 

42. I was now more and more acquainted with John Brydon, 
and though there never was any engagement between us, yet it was 
commonly supposed, we were on the point to marry. Of this Mr. 
W. spoke to one one morning, and advised me to go into the country, 
without letting him know where I went. According, I rode straight 
away to Tanfield, and visited as many as I could all around ; and 
we seldom met or parted without a blessing, so that the flame was 
kindled in every place. 

43. In the beginning of April, 1743, Mr. W. returned to 
London ; I came thither soon after, and was seized with a fever. 
I was in great heaviness of soul, and cried to God, " Only let me 
know that I shall be saved at the last ; I give up all things else into 
Thy hands." Immediately the answer came, "Thou shaltbe saved 



20 



NARRATIVE OF 



at the last ; but it shall be as by fire." And in all doubts and fears 
which I have felt since that time that word has been as an anchor 
to my soul : Thou shalt be saved at the last. 

44. In Autumn 1743, I returned to Newcastle. I now gave 
myself up altogether to the service of the church. Part of the week 
I spent with my classes and the sick ; the other part I was in the 
country. I went to Tanfield first. Many of us met in the evening, 
and among the rest a remarkably wild young man, with whom I 
had talked before, — a famous gamester, — who said he desired to 
break it off ; but it was impossible. I took the hymn-book ; but 
had scarcely given out one line, when an awe from God fell upon 
us all ; so that I was constrained to say, "Be still, and know that 
God is in the midst of us." I then prayed. As soon as I named 
the young man, a cry ran through the whole assembly. Ann Laws 
and three or four others received a sense of the pardoning love of 
God ; and the young man cried out, " I will game no more ; I will 
serve God, I will serve God." 

45. I stayed a year in Mr. W/s family, dividing my time between 
the town and country. All this time I enjoyed a settled peace, but 
not such love and joy as in time past. Indeed, I found less of these, 
from the very time when I began to labour for the souls of others, 
having usually a deep sense of my wants and ignorance — and 
emptiness ; then especially, when God was pleased to work among 
the people in so surprising a manner, I then felt myself stripped (as 
it were) of all things ; only I knew that God loved me. 

46. Mr. W. now coming to Newcastle, I desired to speak with 
him. I told him I could not stay in his family any longer, as being 
utterly unable to please S. Jackson in anything. He desired to 
hear us face to face ; Mr. Meyrick and West all were present. 
After we had had a full hearing, he consented I should go. So I 
had no further concern in the family. 

47. While I was at Newcastle, John Brydon married, and soon 
grew quite light and careless. This shocked me exceedingly. I 
was afraid his blood would be upon my head, because I did not 
marry him. The more I reasoned, the more confused I was, till I 
had lost sight of God. Yet I could not be unemployed a moment, 
but was continually praying with and exhorting others. One day 
as I was walking over the Croft to meet my class, I felt a cloud fall 
in a moment, as it were on my body as well as soul. A horrible 
darkness overwhelmed me, and I thought, " I am taking all this 
pains for God and for my soul ; — what, if I have no soul ! what, if 
there be no God ? " Immediately I looked up and said, " If I had 
no soul, how could I live and move? If there be no God, who 
spread out the heavens like a curtain ? Who laid the foundations 
of the earth ? " I then cried aloud, " If thou be a God, save me ! " 



JOHN WESLEY. 



21 



But there was no answer. When I came to the stile, I was violently 
tempted to throw myself down and dash my brains out. I hastened 
on, till I came into the passage leading to the Minor Chair, where 
an unspeakable horror fell upon me. 

48. When I came home, I locked myself up in my room at 
P. Gibson's. I prayed with my lips (which I did almost continually), 
but I felt it not ; my heart was quite frozen ; it was hard as the 
nether mill-stone. I read the Bible ; but the promises were 
nothing to me; I could claim none of them. On the contrary, I 
took all the threatenings to myself, all was lamentation, and 
mourning, and woe. I saw nothing but hell before my eyes ; a had 
no hope of escaping ; yet I abhorred sin ; I could not bear to speak 
or hear an idle word, or to see anything light or trifling. 

49. I had long been in a gloomy and despairing state of mind 
when one morning Mr. Maxfield was mentioning a Predestinarian, 
who died in deep despair. It immediately struck me, " So shall 
L" She said God had created her to damn her, and so he did me. 
He determinded to damn me, and so has given me up ; and he gave 
me that grace and love which I once had, only to increase my 
damnation. And these thoughts I could never entirely shake off ; 
but they pursued me day and night. 

50. 1 was likewise grievously tormented with that scripture, 
Heb. vi. 4, I knew I had tasted the good word and the powers of 
the world to come ; and therefore believed, that seeing I was thus 
fallen away, it was impossible to renew me again to repentance ; 
and that there remained nothing but a fearful looking-for of fiery 
indignation. 

51. Indeed, I mourned and wept for God continually : but this 
gave me no manner of comfort ; it being suggested, " Yes, so Esau 
mourned and wept, but he found no place for repentance ; neither 
could he obtain the blessing he had cast away, though he sought it 
carefully with tears." 

52. Many times such a slavish fear fell upon me, that I thought 
I was just dropping into hell. I felt myself utterly banished from 
God. I remembered the days of old, when I saw the smiling face 
of God ; but now I could not see Him but as an angry Judge. I 
had no spark of hope left, and saw nothing before me but the black- 
ness of darkness for ever. I wished I had never been born; I wished I 
had no soul ; I wished I had been a beast or creeping thing. Often 
I was so desperate, as not to have a desire of salvation, nor to care 
whether I was saved or damned. Sometimes I even wished to be 
in hell, that I might know the worst, and frequently, in the midst 
of all this, my body was so affected, that the bed shook under me, 
and I felt as if one had begun at the crown of my head and flayed 
off my skin, yea, my flesh and all, to the very soles of my feet. 



22 



NARRATIVE OF 



53. I was one morning at breakfast at Mr. Huntley's, when I 
was seized in this manner. Hannah Jones saw my colour change, 
and asked " What is the matter ? 99 I said, " I am not well." I 
rose up and hastened away to S. Proctor's, where my band was 
waiting for mei I threw myself on the bed, and roared aloud for 
the disquietness of my soul. They were all frightened. I cried 
out, " Pray, pray, can none of you pray for me ? 19 After she had 
spent some time, she broke off and said, " I can pray no more ; I 
think your burden is come upon me." Ann Gooddall then burst 
into prayer. The power of God came down, and struck that word 
to my heart : " This is the cup of which the Son of God drank ; 
wilt thou not drink of His cup? " I cried, "Lord, I will ; if it be 
His cup, I will drink of it ; only give me Thy strength." A little 
ray of hope then darted into my soul. 

54. But this lasted not long ; in a little time I was again covered 
with thick darkness. The same week some of my band came to 
see me at my mother's. While we were sitting at tea, I was seized, 
as before, with the same agony both of body and soul. I set down 
my cup, and desired we might pray. My mouth was filled with 
words, and all around me were melted into tears. But my heart 
was neither broken nor heated ; I remained as dead and dry as 
ever, though I dared tell none how I was, for fear of turning the 
weak or lame out of the way. 

55. I often said, " Oh that I had wings like a dove, that I might 
fly away, and be at rest." That I might escape from all the busy 
ways of men and be alone, where no eye might see me ! I wandered 
about in fields and solitary places, and would gladly have been 
always there ; but I did not dare to forsake those who were com- 
mitted to my charge, nor to stay away either from the morning or 
evening preaching. I likewise visited the sick, though I was myself 
shrunk almost into a skeleton ; so that many used to ask me, " Why 
I came out ? " and told me I was fitter in bed than anywhere else. 

56. About this time I began to doubt whether Christ was God ; 
and to reason how He could be one with the Father. I reasoned 
till I had no light concerning Him left, no more than if I had never 
believed ! Then I thought how unmerciful God was, and hard to be 
entreated ! How cruelly He dealt with me ! — with a thousand other 
blasphemous imaginations. These arrows stuck faster and faster 
into my soul, and the poison of them drank up my spirits. Yet I 
kept all to myself, and was continually exhorting others to believe 
in the name of the Son of God. 

57. Nevertheless, God gave me sometimes refreshing sleep, 
though at other times my sleep departed from me. I likewise often 
mingled my meat with tears, and often forgot to eat my bread. 
Often I purposely abstained from food, because of the saying of our 



JOHN WESLEY. 



23 



Lord, " This kind goeth not forth but by prayer and fasting ; " and 
that for several days together. This I the more willingly did, be- 
cause I found it impaired, my bodily strength ; for I desired death 
rather than life ; I loathed the thought of my living long. Another 
reason of my long and continued fasts was that I might destroy 
whatever it was, whereby I had been a snare to men, that I might 
never hurt any man more. 

58. It was now the time of Lent, 1744, when I was much 
tempted " Not to eat any more." Under this persuasion I neither 
ate nor drank for several days ; nor had any desire of meat or drink. 
I felt no pain, only I grew weaker and weaker; but this was no 
concern to me. I was willing to leap into a fiery furnace, or to 
have my body cut into a thousand pieces, so my soul might be saved 
at the last; but immediately after receiving the sacrament on 
Easter- day the snare was broken ; I prayed, as I could, that God 
would show me His will ; and for a time I had a little comfort. 

59. Yet I soon grew darker again, having no sight of God, no 
peace, no hope. However, I resolved to bring as many others to 
God as I could, and to live and die in His work, whatever became 
of me after death. With this view I went one day to visit a person 
in Sandgate, but it was vehemently, "why what can you say 
to him? you know not God; you know not if there be any Christ." 
I came in and asked, " William, is the Son of man risen upon your 
soul ? " He said, " Not yet, but I believe He will soon ? " I prayed 
with him. His soul was filled with peace ; and two or three days 
after he quietly gave up his spirit to God. 

60. The same night I was at home, when the power of darkness 
fell upon me, and overwhelmed both my body and soul. My spirit 
was wounded within me. My body felt as if it was all empty and 
burnt up, so that I could compare it to nothing but a piece of wood 
which had been burnt to a coal. The next day I was in racking 
pain, and the next evening I was in the same condition. I con- 
tinued thus till I fell asleep ; but with dreams and terrified with 
visions ; and when the morning came, the light was as the shadow 
of death ; and I awoke — 

" to all the woes I left behind." 

61. About Christmas, 1744, Mr. Briggs came down from London. 
As soon as I saw him in the desk, it was as it were whispered to 
me, "There is a messenger of God to thee for good." In the 
afternoon John Nelson told us, " One of our brethren was come 
from London who would meet any of the bands that desired it." 
I desired he would meet mine. He did so in the morning, and a 
few days after (on my return from Horsley) we had much conver- 
sation together. I opened my whole heart to him, not willingly 



24 



NARRATIVE OF 



keeping back anything. The more we conversed the more my mind 
was eased. My doubt concerning the sins of John Brydon being 
imputed to me, was soon removed, and the horrible dread was 
taken away. 

62. Anno 1745. From this time I began to hope against hope; 
but I now fell into sufferings of another kind. I was seized with 
an inexpressible sense of the judgments of God hanging over the 
nation. Everything I saw or heard, the very blowing of the wind, 
the waving of the trees, the murmuring of the water, seemed to 
bespeak the wrath of God, and the heavy punishment He was about 
to bring upon a people laden with iniquities. And as I was one 
morning alone, a dread fell upon me, as if we were all about to be 
destroyed. I thought the Papists were just going to swallow us 
up. I cried vehemently, " Lord, I am not fit to die, neither can I 
resist unto blood; but give me Thy strength, and I will suffer all 
things." 

63. I continued groaning under these apprehensions, till Mr. 
C. W. came to Newcastle. Under an exhortation he gave one 
night to the bands, I received power to hope; and I went home, 
rejoicing in hope. But Satan soon thrust sore at me again, sug- 
gesting, " What pride and presumption it was, for such a sinner as 
I to hope for mercy." I cried out, " Well, Satan, if the Son of God 
will not save me, I am content to perish ; and if my perishing will 
glorify God, I am content to go to hell." And I found a willingness 
in my inmost soul to suffer anything which might glorify Him ; yea, 
if it were for the glory of God to remain in hell to all eternity. 

64. Mr. W. took me with him to several places in the country ; 
and I found a continual increase of hope ; and I never wanted 
power from God to pray with and labour among the people. After 
he went away, I was meeting a band, when on a sudden I was struck 
with sharp pain from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot. 
Immediately I was in a burning fever ; at the same time I felt a 
full and clear sense of the pardoning love of God, and I knew my 
soul was set at liberty, and that Satan was departed from me. I 
saw all I had suffered had been for good. I saw God had been with 
me walking on the waters, and that when I went through the fires, 
he had covered my head, that I might not be consumed. I was 
carried home and kept my bed for twelve or fourteen days. But 
pain was now nothing; I knew God, I rejoiced in God my 
Saviour. I glorified Him in the fires; I was willing not only to 
die, but, if it were his will, to live and suffer all my days. 

65. As soon as I was able to sit a horse, I went to Sheep-Hill, 
where I recovered my strength in a few days, to the surprise of all 
that saw me. At my return to Newcastle I gladly resumed my 
work of visiting the sick and attending the classes and bands. My 



JOHN WESLEY. 



25 



labour was now again my delight, my soul was stayed upon God 
continually. I d>ad no doubt of His love, I had no fear of His 
wrath, and no desire but to do and suffer His will. I was more 
than ever before, crucified unto the world, and the world crucified 
unto me. I was free from everything here below, and wholly athirst 
for God, the living God. 

66. In August the Rebellion broke out, which was no surprise to 
me. Mr. W. came to Newcastle in September, and in November 
set out for London. Soon after, in pursuance of his advice, I went 
to live at Sheep-Hill. Three days in each week I was at home ; 
the rest I usually spent in the Societies. In December Mr. W. 
wrote, that I should go and take charge of the house at Newcastle. 
I was much averse to this at first ; but was convinced in a moment 
that God had called me to it. So, on Christmas-eve I left Sheep- 
Hill and came into the house on Christmas-day. 

67. I fouud Mr. Sheppard ill in the house; but in a few weeks 
he recovered ; Mr. Houghton then fell sick of a fever. For three 
weeks I was never undressed ; but I wanted neither rest nor sleep ; 
at last I felt no want till he recovered his health, and then I was 
taken with the fainting fits which have never left me since. 

69. Mr. Westall was with us in summer, and in autumn was 
taken ill of a fever. When he begun to recover I fell down. I kept 
my bed about three weeks : but my soul was happy in God. I told 
S. Proctor, " God has laid me upon this bed, that I may have time 
for prayer." And my heart and mouth were filled with prayer 
continually ; for a great part of this time it was impressed on my 
mind with an unspeakable force, " That in three years I should see 
a great change ; " but of what kind it was to be I knew not. 

70. When I began to recover, Mr. Westall and I went up 
together one night to the leads. As we were sitting, he told me 
how the devil had tormented him at Bristol ; and immediately he 
cried, " He is not far from us now." I said, " I feel him near ; but 
God is nearer than he is," We came down and began to sing : but 
we knew not how to leave off. We continued singing and praying 
one after another; and did not rise till it was past twelve o'clock. 
The same spirit of prayer was upon us the next day (Thursday), and 
so every day till the following Thursday, so that we could scarcely 
do anything but pray day and night, and continued therein twice, 
till past two in the morning. On the second Thursday the bands 
met. While Mr. Westall paused, I was constrained to break out 
into loud prayer. A cry went forth, many wept ; many praised 
God ; all but four were filled with consolation. Mr. Westall and 
I had begun fasting the day before. We tasted nothing till the 
next day, Friday evening ; and we found no inconveniency to our 
bodies ; but our souls were fed as with marrow and fatness. Eliza 

4 



26 



NARRATIVE OF 



Boomer was not at the bands, being confined in her own house ; 
but she did not thereby lose her share of the blessing. She saw (as 
she afterwards said) the glory of the Lord at that very hour resting 
upon the house, and was filled in an unusual manner with peace and 
joy in the Holy Ghost. 

71. On Saturday morning Jane Tinkler and Mary Armstrong 
came up after the preaching. J. Tinkler had known the peace of 
God; but was now a sinner stripped of all. S. Armstrong had 
never known the peace of God, but was earnestly mourning after it. 
I cried to God, and was constrained to say, " Now, J. Tinkler, your 
soul is set at liberty She instantly answered, " It is, it is ; I taste 
the powers of the world to come." We then prayed for M. Armstrong. 
The answer soon came, and she also was set at liberty. We then 
prayed for my mother, for Mrs. Armstrong and her husband, that they 
might know in whom they had believed. Mrs. A. did not rest 
from that hour, till she knew her sins were blotted out. Mrs. A. 
soon died in peace ; and about the same time my mother rejoiced 
in God her Saviour. After prayer we went to breakfast. In the midst 
of breakfast I cried out, " I see Mr. C. Wesley ; he is not far off ; " 
and a few minutes after Mr. W. and Mr. Perrt came to the gate. 

72. When he went away in January, 1747, he asked me to go a 
day's journey with him. I said to S. Proctor, " I will put a gown 
and some linen, for I believe I shall see John Nelson's house before 
I see you again." We rode to Ferry- Hill ; Mr. W. then cast lots 
which of Us, B. Swindels or I, should go forwards. The lot fell 
upon me. I went into Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, met the women 
of the Societies, and settled the band. I found it was good for me 
to be among them, and God gave us many blessings together. . 

73. In February I returned to Newcastle. Mr. Wesley soon 
after came, and spent part of Lent there. After we went, B. Hopper 
carried me to Annan dale. Mr. Richards went with us, and stayed 
three days. The night after we went back, the Society met. 
Several were broken to pieces and several healed. We met every 
night after, and had the same blessing. In the day-time, partly the 
people came to me, partly I went to them. By this means I spoke 
with all the Society (as well as many others), and divided the 
believers into bands. I had at first designed to stay only a week, 
but the work of God so mightily prevailed, and the poor people 
were so importunate with me, that I could not break away till I had 
spent a month among them. My employment then was as usual ; 
part of the week in town, the other part in the country Societies. 

74. This summer, 1747, B. Wheatley, Dunstar, and Webster, 
were all ill in the house together. Mr. Wheatley would suffer 
none but me to come near him, which confined me more than I 
desired, and wore my body down till I was exceedingly weak. About 



JOHN WESLEY. 



27 



Midsummer I went up to London. When I returned, some of our 
sisters began to be offended, and to make many objections to me. 
I did all I could to remove them. I called frequently upon them, 
and spoke as lovingly and plainly as I could. But it did not avail. 
They were still equally displeased, and endeavoured to spread the 
same spirit among others. But I did not as yet perceive any 
resentment towards them, only I was grieved, because they hurt 
their own souls. 

75. The next Lent, 1748, Mr. Wesley spent wholly in the North. 
He took me with him through all the country Societies. At this 
our sisters were much offended, and others soon caught the infec- 
tion. This put me upon reasoning that profited nothing. Till now 
I had received all things, honour or dishonour, the good-will or 
ill-will of any, as from the hand of God, but now I began to think, 
" How hard this is ! To use me thus ! After I have slaved for 
them so many years ! Well, I will get out of it all ; I will leave 
them to themselves ; I will suffer this no longer." By this means 
I was fretted and weakened, and was brought to think of what I 
had before cast from me. 

76. When Mr Wesley came down in the latter end of the year, 
and took me with him again into the country, the offence increased, 
and I looked at it more and more. It was now that Mr. Wesley 
being ill, I was obliged to be with him much both day and night, 
and he spoke to me more freely than before ; but I could not believe 
even what I heard, it seemed too strange to be true; and all the 
time I was with him in his return through Yorkshire and Derby- 
shire I understood him not, not even when he said, " In Spring 
you shall go with me to Ireland. We must part for a while, but if 
we meet again, I trust we shall part no more.' 5 

77. The day after Mr. Wesley went away, Mr. B. proposed 
marriage to me. A day or two after I consented, without asking 
Mr. W/s advice. 1 then returned to Newcastle. After resting a 
week there, I visited all the Societies in the south, settled the bands, 
and endeavoured to remove offences, and regulate all things as well 
as I could. I then went the north round, and stayed a week at 
Berwick. I was very ill when I came there. Two days I stayed 
within, and many came to me. The third night I was under much 
concern, and earnestly besought God to show me to what end He 
had brought me to that place. It was then impressed upon my 
mind to meet the class of children, which accordingly I did the 
next morning. As soon as I began to sing, the power of God was 
upon us, and increased more and more. We continued together 
till past twelve o' clock, during which time God revealed His par- 
doning love to — Archbold, and four or five of the children, some? 
of whom walk in the light to this day. 

[Thus far her Account.] 



28 



NARRATIVE OF 



XXI. We stayed here from Saturday to Thursday, and the more 
I knew her the more I loved her. She frequently told me, " In 
time past I could have married another if you would have given me 
away, but now it is impossible we should part ; God has united us 
for ever." Abundance of conversation to the same effect we had 
on our return to Newcastle, where on Sunday, the 17th, we con- 
tinued conversing together till late at night, and she gave me all 
the assurances which words could give, of the most intense and 
inviolable affection. The same she renewed every day, yea, every 
hour when we were alone, unless we were employed in prayer, 
which indeed took up a considerable part of the time we were 
together. 

XXII. On Monday and Tuesday, that I might be able to form a 
clearer judgment of her real character, I talked at large with all 
those who were disgusted at her, and inquired into their reasons 
for it. I found none of them new except sister LyddelPs, " That 
she had the impudence to ride into the town with Mr. Wesley " 
(which was accidentally true, Mr. P. and James Kirkshaw having 
rode away from us) . Mr. Williams accused [her] " of not lending 
his wife her saddle " (being just going to take horse herself) . Mrs. 
Williams, of buying a Holland shift (which was not true). Nancy 
and Peggy Watson, of buying a Joseph before she wanted it ; Ann 
Matteson, of being proud and insolent; and Betty Graham, of 
buying an apron worth ten shillings (which, indeed, was not bought 
at all) . I plainly perceived jealousy and envy were the real grounds 
of most of these objections and accusations, and idle senseless pre- 
judice of the rest; offence taken, but not given; so that, after all, 
her character appeared untouched, and for anything they could 
prove, she had done all things well. 

XXIII. Wed. 20. Christopher Hooper met us at Horseley, and 
guided us to Hinely-Hill. Understanding he knew John Bennetts 
design, I told him the whole affair. He was much moved, and 
undertook to go himself to John Bennet, and try if he crtild not 
satisfy him. To this end, he set out on Friday, intending to go on 
slowly, so as to be at Chinley about Tuesday. 

XXIV. At her request we renewed the contract made in Dublin. 
B. Hopper, observing her pause and tremble before she spoke the 
words, asked, " Sister M., have you any scruple upon your mind? 
if you have the least scruple I beg you would stop. Pray do." 
She cheerfully replied, " I have none at all ; " and then spoke the 
words immediately. An hour after I took horse for Whitehaven, 
leaving her to examine and settle the women-bands in Allandale. 
She stood looking after me till I was up the hill. I had not one 
uneasy thought, believing God would give us to meet again at the 
time when He saw good. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



29 



XXV. Yet from the time I came to Whitehaven there was some- 
thing hanging on my mind which I knew not how to explain, and 
the first night I lay there I dreamed John Bennet came to me. I 
asked him, " Where is Sister Murray ? " He replied, " At Chinley." 
I waked in a moment, and (for that time) slept no more. I wrote to 
her on Saturday, and was amazed at myself when I began my letter 
with these lines : — "There is I know not what of sad presage, that 
tells me we shall never meet again." But I endeavoured to cast it 
off, being persuaded that now neither life nor death would part us. 

XX VI. On Sunday in the afternoon I was calmly waiting upon 
God, when those words in the first Lesson came as a sword to my 
heart, Son of man, behold ! I take from thee the desire of thine eyes 
with a stroke. Immediately a shivering ran through me, and in a 
minute I was in a fever. But when I came home, seeing a vast 
congregation in the market-place, I could not send them empty 
away; and while I was speaking to them, God remembered me 
and strengthened me, both in soul and body. 

XXVII. As soon as I had finished my letter to John Bennet on 
the 7th instant, I sent a copy of it to my brother at Bristol. The 
thought of my marrying at all, but especially of my marrying a 
servant and one so low-born, appeared above measure shocking to 
him. Thence he inferred it would appear so to all mankind, and 
consequently, that it would break up all our Societies, and put a 
stop to the whole work of God. 

XXVIII. Full of this, instead of writing to me (who would have 
met him anywhere at the first summons) he hurried down from 
Bristol to Leeds. There he met with Robert Swindells and William 
Shent, who informed him (which he had heard slightly mentioned 
before) that Grace Murray was engaged to J. Bennet. This was 
adding oil to the flame. So he posted to Newcastle, taking with 
him William Shent, not many degrees cooler than himself. 

XXIX. Here he met with Jane Keith, a woman of strong sense 
and exquisite subtilty. She had long been prejudiced against 
G. Murray, which had broken out more than once. She gave him 
just such an account as he wished to hear, and at his request set it 
down in writing. The sum of it was, — 1st. That Mr. Wesley was 
in love with Grace Murray beyond all sense and reason ; 2nd. That 
he had shown this in the most public manner, and had avowed it 
to all the Society; and 3rd. That all the town was in an uproar, 
and all the Societies ready to fly in pieces. 

XXX. My brother, believing all this, flew on for Whitehaven, 
concluding G. Murray and I were there together He reached it 
(with W. Shent) on Monday. I was not at all surprised when I 
saw him. He urged, " All our Preachers would leave us, all our 
Societies disperse, if I married so mean a woman/ 5 He then 



30 



NARRATIVE OF 



observed, she was engaged to J. Bennet. As I knew she was pre- 
engaged to me, as I regarded not her birth, but her qualifications, 
and as I believed those consequences might be prevented, I could 
see no valid objection yet. However, I did not insist on my own 
judgment, but desired the whole might be preferred to Mr. Pert, 
which he readily consented to. 

XXXI. As soon as I was alone, I began to consider with myself, 
"Whether I was in my senses or no ? Whether love had put out my 
eyes (as my brother affirmed) or I had the use of them still ? I 
weighed the steps I bad taken yet again, and the grounds on which 
I had proceeded. A short account of these I wrote down simply 
in the following terms : — 

1. From the time I was six or seven years old, if any one spoke 
to me concerning marrying, I used to say I thought I never should, 
" Because I should never find such a woman as my father had." 

2. When I was about seventeen (and so till I was six or seven 
and twenty) I had no thought of marrying, because I could not 
keep a wife. 

3. I was then persuaded " It was unlawful for a Priest to marry/' 
grounding that persuasion on the (supposed) sense of the Primitive 
Church. 

4. Not long after, by reading some of the mystic writers, I was 
brought to think marriage was the less perfect state, and that there 
was some degree (at least) of taint upon the mind, necessarily 
attending the marriage-bed. 

5. At the same time I viewed in a strong light St. Paul's words 
to the Corinthians, and judged it impossible for a married man to 
be so without carefulness, or to attend upon the Lord with so little 
distraction as a single man might do. 

6. Likewise, being desirous to lay out all I could in feeding the 
hungry and clothing the naked, I could not think of marrying, 
because it would bring such expense, as would swallow up all I now 
gave away. 

7. But my grand objection for these twelve years past has been, 
" A dispensation of the Gospel has been committed unto me, and I 
will do nothing which directly or indirectly tends to hinder my 
preaching the Gospel." 

8. My first objection was easily removed by my finding some, 
though very few women, whom I could not but allow to be equal 
to my mother both in knowledge and piety. 

9. My second — that I could not keep a wife — held only till I 
found reason to believe there were persons in the world who were 
both able and willing to keep me, 

10. My third vanished away when I read with my own eyes 
Bishop Beveridge's Codex Conciliorum. I then found the very 



JOHN WESLEY. 



31 



council of Nice had determined just the contrary to what I had 
supposed. 

11. St. Paul slowly and gradually awakened me out of my mystic 
dream, and convinced me " the bed is undented," and no necessary 
hinderance to the highest perfection, though I did not yet shake 
off the weight till our last conference in London. 

12. I was next, though very unwillingly, convinced that there 
might be such a case as Dr. Koker's, who often declared he was 
never so free from care, never served God with so little distraction, 
as since his marriage with one who was both able and willing to 
bear that care for him. 

13. The two other objections weighed with me still, increase of 
expense and hindering the Gospel; but with regard to the former 
I now clearly perceived that my marriage would bring little expense 
if I married one whom I maintain now, who would afterwards 
desire nothing more than she had before, and would cheerfully 
consent that our children (if any) should be wholly brought up at 
Kingswood. 

14. As to the latter, I have the strongest assurance which the 
nature of the thing will allow, that the person proposed would not 
hinder, but exceedingly further me in the work of the Gospel; for, 
from a close observation of several years (three of which she spent 
under my own roof), I am persuaded she is in every capacity a 
help-meet for me. 

15. First, as a housekeeper, she has every qualification I desire. 
She understands all I want to have done. She is remarkably neat 
in person, in clothes, in all things. She is nicely frugal, yet not 
sordid. She has much common sense ; contrives everything for 
the best; makes everything go as far as it can go; foresees what is 
wanting and provides it in time ; does all things quickly and yet 
without hurry; she is a good workwoman, able to do the finest, 
ready to do the coarsest work ; observes my rules when I am absent 
as well as when I am present ; and takes care that those about her 
observe them, yet seldom disobliges any of them. 

16. As a nurse (which my poor shattered, enfeebled carcass now 
frequently stands in need of), she is careful to the last degree, inde- 
fatigably patient, and inexpressibly tender. She is quick, cleanly, 
skilful, and understands my constitution better than most phy- 
sicians. 

17. As a companion, she has good sense, and some knowledge 
both of men and books. She is of an engaging behaviour, and of 
a mild, sprightly, cheerful, and yet serious temper. 

18. As a friend, she has been long tried and found faithful. 
She watches over me both in body and soul, understanding all my 
weaknesses, sympathizing with me, and helpful to me in all ; never 



32 



NARRATIVE OF 



ashamed, never afraid ; having a continual presence of mind in all 
difficulties and dangers ; in all, enabled to cover my head and 
strengthen my hands in God. 

19. Lastly, as a fellow-labourer in the Gospel of Christ (the light 
wherein my wife is to be chiefly considered) , she had gifts, and in a 
measure which I never found in any other, both grace, and fruit. With 
regard to the first, she is crucified unto the world, desiring nothing 
but God, dead to the desire of the flesh, the desire of the eye, the 
pride of life ; exemplarily chaste, modest, temperate, yet without 
any affectation. She is teachable and reprovable, gentle and long- 
suffering, eminently compassionate, weeping with those that weep, 
bearing both my burdens, those of the preacher and those of the 
people, zealous of good works, longing to spend and be spent for 
the glory of God and the good of men. 

20. As to her gifts, she has a clear apprehension and a deep 
knowledge of the things of God, a quick discernment of spirits, and 
no small insight into the devices of Satan. She has been trained 
up, more especially for these ten years, in the word of truth, having 
constantly attended both the morning and evening preaching, with- 
out despising the meanest of our preachers. She is well acquainted 
with, and exercised in, our method of leading souls, having gone 
through all our little offices, and discharged them all entirely well. 
She has a ready utterance, a spirit of convincing as well as of per- 
suasive speech, a winning address, an agreeable carriage, in what- 
ever company she is engaged. By means of all which she is 
exceedingly beloved, almost wherever she goes, and is dear, in an 
uncommon manner, to great numbers of the people. 

21. And as to the fruit of her labours, I never yet heard or read 
of any woman so owned of God ; so many have been convinced of 
sin in her bands and classes, and under her prayers. I particularly 
insist upon this : if ever I have a wife, she ought to be the most 
careful woman in the kingdom, not barely one who probably may be so 
(I could not be content to run such a hazard), but one that undeniably 
is so. Now, show me the woman in England, Wales, or Ireland, 
who has done so much good as Grace Murray. I will say no more. 
Show me one in all the English annals, whom God has so employed 
in so high a degree ; I might say, in all the history of the church 
from the death of our Lord to this day. This is no hyperbole, but 
plain, demonstrable fact, and if it be, who so proper to be my 
wife? 

22. I cannot doubt but such a person being constantly with me 
(for she is both willing and able to accompany me in all my jour- 
neys, another circumstance which is absolutely necessary in such a 
helper as I want), would be so far from being a hinderance to my 
work, that she would remove many hinderances out of my way. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



33 



She would, in a great measure, either prevent or remove those 
bodily weaknesses or disorders which now increase fast upon me. 
By caring for me she would free me from a thousand cares, and 
enable me to serve God with less distraction. She is and would be 
a continual defence (under God) against unholy desires and in- 
ordinate affections, which I never did entirely conquer for six 
months together, before my intercourse with her. Now that 'tis 
" kreisson mallon gamein e epithunieisthai," is owned, and marriage 
being supposed, point out a proper person. 

23. But she would not only remove hindrances, but such a friend 
and fellow -labourer (I do not say probably would, but actually 
does) greatly assists and furthers me in my work, enlivening my 
dull and dead affections, composing and calming my hurried 
thoughts, sweetening my spirits when they are rough and harsh, 
and convincing me of what is true, or persuading me to what is 
right, when perhaps no other would or could ; at the same time, 
loosening my soul from all below, and raising it up to God. 

24. She would likewise remove many hinderances from others, 
women in particular ; she would guard many from inordinate affec- 
tion for me, to which they would be far less exposed, both because 
they would have far less hope of success, and because I should con- 
verse far more sparingly with them, perhaps not in private with any 
young women at all, at least not with any member of our own 
Societies. 

25. And she might directly further the work by employing all 
her grace and gifts on that very thing; in regulating female classes and 
bands ; in examining, instructing, reproving, comforting ; in awaken- 
ing souls (under God), bringing them to the faith and building 
them up therein. Therefore all my seven arguments against mar- 
riage are totally set aside ; nay, some of them seem to prove, both 
that I ought to marry, and that Grace Murray is the person. 

26. But it is objected to this, — 1. That my marrying her would 
turn the greater part of our preachers out of the way, insomuch 
that they would despise my authority, and act no more in conjunc- 
tion with me. 2. That it would break up our Societies, and cause 
them to cry out, " Every man to his tents, O Israel." 3. That 
it would give such scandal to the world as never could be removed. 

27. I cannot receive any one of these propositions without proof ; 
let us hear then, the reasons that support them : — 

The first is, " Because she is low-born." Her parents were poor 
labouring people, 

I answer, " This weighs nothing with me, as it does not prevent 
either her grace or gifts. Besides, whoever I marry, I believe it will 
not be a gentlewoman ; I despair of finding any such, so qualified." 

28. The second reason is, " Because she was my servant." I 

5 



34 NARRATIVE OF 

answer, fi I therefore like her the better. By that means, intus et 
in cute novi. 1 By living with her so long under one roof, I am as 
secure against being deceived in her as I can well be against being 
deceived in anyone. Indeed I should scruple in marrying any 
woman who had not done so for some time." 

29. A third reason is, " She has travelled with me six months." 
With regard to this, I grant some would probably say, " she was 
my mistress before she was my wife." And let them say this ; it 
would hurt just as much as a thousand things they have said before. 
But let them know withal I should never marry any woman till I had 
proof she would travel with me. It is my belief that when these 
things were fairly represented, not only nineteen in twenty of our 
preachers and societies would be satisfied, but also the reasonable 
part of the world, and, for the rest, the good would outweigh that 
evil. 

30. But the fourth and grand reason is behind, " She is already . 
engaged to another." I ask, " Where ? " You say, " At Epworth ;" 
J. B. then asked, " Will you marry me ? " and she replied, " I will." 

I grant it ; but without insisting upon numerous circumstances, 
which account for her weakness in so doing, I insist on one only, — 
" She was contracted before ; therefore this promise was null and 
void. And that contract was far stronger than this; at Epworth 
she only said, " I will take you ; " at Dublin she said, " I do." 

" But before she went to Dublin, she consented in Derbyshire to 
J. B/s proposal." I grant this also ; but before that she had con- 
sented to my proposal at Newcastle. Therefore, what was done at 
Newcastle, vacated a thing of the same kind done afterwards in 
Derbyshire; and the contract made deprcesento at Dublin, vacated 
the contract de futuro made at Epworth. 

31. "But J. B. (this is the fifth reason) will not believe this; 
therefore he will expose you as having married his wife." Perhaps 
he will believe it by and by; and I am willing to stay any reason- 
able time till he does ; at least there is reason to think most others 
will believe it, when a fair state of the case is laid before them. 

32. But there is one reason more, "you have said and have 
printed, that you would never marry." This is a mistake ; I have 
never said any more either in public or private than, " I do not de- 
sign to marry ; and I said true, I did not design it, nor thought 
that I ever should, when I said so; but the reasons which I then 
had against, are now wholly removed, I never said so much as this 
in print. Indeed I published Thoughts on Marriage, but in our 
last conference I was convinced they were not just, and accordingly 
I then altered them. And as to those words in the appeal, " My 



I know her intimately, and to the heart's core. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



35 



wife and children are yet unborn," they imply no more, by natural 
construction, nor did I then intend any more thereby, than that I 
had neither wife nor children at that time, viz. in the year 1744. 

The short is this, — 1. I have scriptural reason to marry; 2. I 
know no person so proper as this. 

32. The next morning my brother spoke more warmly, till I left 
him and W. Shent together. I came back about one, and found 
they had both taken horse some hours before. I had appointed to 
preach the next night at Hineley Hill. About two I set out. My 
horse being worn ought, was all in a sweat before he had gone a 
mile ; and I was extremely weak myself, having had a flux for 
several days. But God was pleased to strengthen both man and 
beast, so that both grew better every hour. 

33. I had a solemn and delightful ride to Keswick, having my 
mind stayed on God. I took horse at the half hour past three in 
the morning. There was neither moon nor stars, but a thick mist ; 
so that I could see no road nor anything else ; but I went as right 
as if it had been noon- day. When I came near Penruddock Moor, 
the mist vanished, the stars appeared, and the dawn of the morning ; 
so I imagined all the danger was passed. But when I was in the 
midst of the moor the mist fell again on every side, and I quickly 
lost my way. I began praying ; immediately it cleared off, and I 
recovered the high road. On Alston Moor I missed my way again, 
and what I believe no stranger ever did before, rode straight through 
all the bogs, without any stop, till I came to the Vale, and thence to 
Hineley Hill. 

34. Hannah Broad wood (at whose house I left S. M.) met me 
at a little distance from it, and said, " Mr. Charles left us two hours 
since, and carried S. M. 1 behind him." I said "The Lord gave, 
and the Lord hath taken away : blessed be the name of the* Lord ! " 
Soon after James Broadwood came in ; he looked at me, and burst 
into tears. I said, I must go on to Newcastle. James said, "No; 
I will go, and with God's leave bring her back." In a quarter of 
an hour he took horse, and I calmly committed the cause to God !j 

35. A large congregation met in the evening, I expounded part 
of the 20th chapter of the Revelations. But oh ! what a time was 
this ! It was as though we were already standing before the great 
white throne ! God was no less present with us in prayer. When 
one just by me cried with a loud and bitter cry, I prayed God would 
give us a token that all these things should work together for good. 
He did ; He wrote pardon upon her heart, and we all rejoiced unto 
Him with reverence. 

36. Thursday, the 28th, was a day which I set apart for seeking 



1 Sister Murray. 



36 



NARRATIVE OF 



God with fasting and prayer. John Brown and B. Hopper were 
with me. It was a day never to be forgotten. I was calm, though 
sad; looking for help from Him only, to whom all things are 
possible. We had all free access to the throne of grace, and a sure 
trust that " God would do all things well." 

I now closely examined myself, touching what was so confidently 
laid to my charge, viz ; Inordinate affection. And I clearly per- 
ceived, that I had never before had so strong an affection for any 
person under Heaven ; which I could easily account for by the 
concurrence of so many little streams in one : gratitude for blessings 
of various kinds which God had given me by her ; esteem upon 
many accounts ; regard for my whole health both of soul and body ; 
and desire of enlarging the work of God, — all conspired with a con- 
viction of her entire love to me, to confirm and increase my affec- 
tion. But yet I could not perceive it was inordinate by any of the 
marks which use to attend such an affection. For, 1. Inordinate 
affection leads from God ; but this continually led me to Him. 
2, Inordinate affection makes us less desirous of doing the works 
of God, less zealous to pray, preach, or do good in any kind ; but 
this increased my desire of doing good in every kind, and my zeal 
to do all the works of God. 3. Inordinate affection makes us cold 
and dead in preaching, praying, or any other office of religion ; but 
this made me more alive in all, more sensible of the power and pre- 
sence of God. 4. Inordinate affection creates jealousy towards 
rivals and resentment towards them that oppose it ; but I never felt 
a minute's jealousy even of J. B., nor a minute's resentment towards 
those who tore her from me. 5. Inordinate affection necessarily 
creates uneasiness in the absence of the object of it; whereas I was 
never uneasy, neither in parting nor after it, no more than if she 
had been a common person. For all these reasons (and I might 
mention several more) I could not conceive that mine was an in- 
ordinate affection, unless it was such an inordinate affection as was 
never before from the beginning of the world, 

37. I need add no more, than that if I had had more regard for 
her I loved, than for the work of God, I should now have gone on 
straight to Newcastle, and not back to Whitehaven. I know this 
was giving up all ; but I knew God called : and therefore, on Friday, 
29th, set out. The storm was full in my face, and exceedingly high, 
so that I had much difficulty to sit my horse, particularly as I was 
riding over the broad, bare backs of those enormous mountains. 
However, I kept on as I could, till I came to the brow of Hatside. 
So thick a fog then fell, that I was soon out of all road, and knew 
not which way to turn. I lifted up my heart. The fog vanished 
in a moment, and I saw Gamblesby, to which I was going. I set 
out early on Saturday, 30th, and in the afternoon reached White- 



JOHN WESLEY. 



37 



haven. To day I resumed my spare diet, which I shall probably 
quit no more. 

38. Sunday, October 1st, I was in great heaviness; my heart 
sinking in me like a stone ; only so long as I was preaching, I felt 
ease. When I had done, the weight returned. I went to church 
sorrowful and very heavy, though I knew not any particular cause. 
And God found me there : not only the lessons, both morning and 
afternoon, containing the account of the three children in the Fiery 
Furnace, of Daniel in the Lions' Den, and of our Lord's walking 
on the water and calming the storm, seemed all designed for me ; 
but even the Psalms which were sung all the day ; I found like- 
wise much refreshment in the sacrament. "When I came home 
I took up a Common Prayer-Book, and opened upon these words : 
" Deliver me not over unto the will of mine adversaries ; for there 
are false witnesses risen up against me, and such as speak wrong. 
I should utterly have fainted ; but that I believe verily to see the 
goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Oh, tarry thou the 
Lord's leisure ; be strong, and He shall comfort thy heart, and put 
thou thy trust in the Lord," Psalm 27, 14, &c. 

39. In the evening my heaviness returned, but with much of the 
spirit of prayer. It seemed to me that I ought not to linger here ; 
and yet I know not whither to go, till Mr. P. asked, " Will you go 
to Leeds on Tuesday ? " Immediately my mind was easy ; I had 
sent notice of being there on Wednesday evening, but it was gone 
out of my thoughts. I determind to go ; only I was concerned to 
leave Whitehaven without a preacher. 

40. We then poured out our hearts before God ; and I was led 
I know not how to ask, that if he saw good, He would show what 
would be the end of these things, in dreams or visions of the night. 
I dreamed I saw a man bring out G. M., 1 who told her, she was 
condemned to die ; and that all things were now in readiness for 
the execution of that sentence. She spoke not one word, nor showed 
any reluctance, but walked up with him to the place. The sentence 
was executed without her stirring either hand or foot. I looked at 
her, till I saw her face turn black. Then I could not bear it, but went 
away ; but I returned quickly, and desired she might be cut down. 
She was then laid upon a bed. I sat by, mourning over her. She 
came to herself, and began to speak, and I awaked. 

41. Monday, the 2nd, I dedicated to God in fasting and solemn 
prayer. We had free access to the throne of grace, and I found my 
will more resigned. In the evening Jos. Cownley came, and 
brought me a letter from Mr. Whitefield, pressing me much to 
meet my brother and him at Leeds on Wednesday evening. My 

1 Grace Murray, 



38 



NARRATIVE OF 



brother had likewise charged J. C. " If I would not come, to come 
hither himself." 

42. Tuesday, 3rd, we rode to Old-Hutton, and about nine next 
night reached Leeds. Here I found not my brother, but Mr. 
Whitefield. I lay down by him on the bed. He told me my 
brother would not come until J. B. and Gr. Murray were married. 
I was troubled ; he perceived it ; he wept and prayed over me, but 
I could not shed a tear. He said all that was in his power to com- 
fort me ; but it was in vain. He told me " it was his judgment 
that she was my wife, and that he had said so to J. B., that he 
would fain have persuaded them to wait, and not to marry till they 
had seen me ; but that my brother's impetuosity prevailed and bore 
down all before it." 

43. I fet no murmuring thought, but deep distress. I accepted 
the just punishment of my manifold unfaithfulness, and therefore 
could not complain ; but I felt the loss both to me and the people, 
which I did not expect could ever be repaired. I tried to sleep, but 
I tried in vain, for sleep was fled from my eyes. I was in a burning 
fever, and more and more thoughts crowding into my mind, I 
perceived if this continued long, it would affect my senses. But 
God took that matter into His hand, giving me, on a sudden, sound 
and quiet sleep. 

44. Thursday, 5th, about eight, one came in from Newcastle, and 
told us, " they were married on Tuesday." My brother came an 
hour after. I felt no anger, yet I did not desire to see him ; but 
Mr. "Whitefield constrained me. After a few words had passed he 
accosted me with, " I renounce all intercourse with you, but what 
I would have with an heathen man or a publican." I felt little 
emotion ; it was only adding a drop of water to a drowning man ; 
yet I calmly accepted his renunciation, and acquiesced therein. Poor 
Mr. Whitefield and J. Nelson burst into tears. They prayed, 
cried, and entreated, till the storm passed away. We could not 
speak, but only fell on each other's neck. 

45. J. B. then came in. Neither of us could speak; but we 
kissed each other, and wept. Soon after I talked with my brother 
alone ; he seemed utterly amazed ; he clearly saw I was not what 
he had thought, and now blamed her only ; which confirmed me in 
believing my presage was true, and I shall see her face no more. I 

46. But the great mystery to me was this ; by what means under 
heaven could she (who I knew, whatever others thought, had loved 
me for ten years as her own soul) be prevailed upon to marry 
another ? especially after so solemn a contract with me. I could 
not unravel it till I read my brother's papers ; what I learned from 
them and some others was this : — 

47. Her mind was quite settled when I left her at Hineley Hill, 



JOHN WESLEY. 



39 



nor had she any more thoughts of J. B. than of John Jones. On 
Saturday and Monday was the same. On Monday she wrote to 
S. Proctor in these words. " If Mr. B. comes to Newcastle write 
to me immediately, for I must not see him, it will tear my soul to 
pieces, seeing I can by no means help him now ; for whom God 
hath joined together no man can put asunder ; and well am I 
assured it was His will it should be so. Glory be to God ; I find 
Him mightily present with me. My soul is athirst for God and 
the good of souls ; I find my former zeal returned ; I trust I shall 
be more bold in the cause of Christ than ever. The Lord hath 
brought strange things to pass ; what I never looked for. Praise 
the Lord, O my soul, who hath cast thy lot in a fair ground ! " 

On Tuesday, 26th, she was much in prayer, and appeared exceeding 
thankful to God, and more and more fixed every hour, to live and 
die with me. 

48. On Wednesday, 27th, she was exceedingly troubled at my 
letter from Whitehaven ; Hannah Broadwood could in no wise com- 
fort her ; but it threw her into vehement prayer. About eleven 
my brother came ; he kissed her, and said, " Grace Murray, you 
have broken my heart." Then he dropped down. It is easy to 
conceive what impression this must make on so tender a mind as 
hers. Soon after he put into her hands the following letter, writen 
the day before. 

" My dear Sister and Friend, 

" What shall I say to you ? I would not willingly grieve you, 
though you have well nigh broken my heart ; and still you will be 
the occasion of bringing down my hairs with sorrow to the grave. 
Neither my soul nor my body will ever recover the wound ; in this 
life I mean. But there the weary are at rest ; there all tears are 
wiped away from our eyes. Fain would I hope that you can say 
something in your defence (when I come to talk with you) which 
now I know not. But the case thus appears to me ; you promised 
J. B. to marry him, since which you engaged yourself to another. 
How is this possible ? and who is this other ? One of such im- 
portance, that his doing so dishonest an action, would destroy both 
himself and me and the whole work of God. It was on the very 
brink of ruin ; but the snare is broken, and we are delivered. I 
am returning with my brother straight to London • but could not 
leave the country without writing to you. Still I would suspend 
my judgment in that love which hopeth all things. But oh ! how 
humbled, how thankful ought you to be at your almost miraculous 
deliverance ! Had not the Lord restrained you, what a scandal 
had you brought upon the Gospel ; nay, and you would have left 
your name as a curse upon God's people. But I spare you, and 
hope in ignorance you did it. Be not therefore troubled over 



40 



NARRATIVE OF 



much ; I never intend to speak to you a harsh word about it ; but 
pray for you and love you, till we meet at the marriage-supper of 
the Lamb." 

49. She must have been more than human, if this letter delivered 
with such circumstances, had not wrought the desired effect, 
especially as she supposed it was written when I was by, and there- 
fore contained my judgment as well as his. So all hope of me was 
utterly cut off; I was returning straight to London with my brother. 
I was supposed to have seen us both on " the very brink of ruin, to 
rejoice that the snare was broken, and join in exhorting her to be 
thankful for our almost miraculous deliverence." 

What wonder, then, that when he asked, " Are you willing to go 
with me to Leeds, to meet my brother and J. B. there," she should 
readily consent ? particularly as she believed, that it was all by my 
own appointment. 

50 About one he took her behind him, and set out. At first he 
designed to go by way of Newcastle ; but being afraid every 
moment that I was just at his heels, he used several stratagems to 
elude his pursuer, and at last turned out of the Newcastle road, and 
made straight for Durham ; but in a little time they lost the way, 
and so were glad to lodge at T. Brown's at Newland. 

She appeared very cheerful when they came in ; but it was not 
so when she was retired ; for she did not sleep all night, but lay 
tumbling and tossing too and fro, as one in deep distress. 

51. Upon the supposition, that she loved J. B. best, this was 
utterly unintelligible ; for what could she desire more ? She was 
going, with my full consent, to marry him immediately ; but, upon 
the contrary supposition, the mixture of cheerfulness and sadness is 
easily to be understood. Looking on the things that were past in 
the same light with my brother, and now believing she really be- 
longed to J. B., and that by giving herself up to him, she should at 
once clear her conscience, preserve one she tenderly loved from 
ruin, and prevent so many dreadful consequences, she rejoiced and 
sung praise, as having escaped out of a snare, and found a great 
deliverance ; but still she could not prevent many doubts, whether 
she belonged to him or not, nor probably some fears, that all things 
had not been fairly represented to her. Above all, her love to me, 
together with the remembrance of many things which had passed 
between us, would sometimes return, quash all her joy, and be as 
a sword piercing her heart. 

52. In the morning they rode on to Ferry-Hill, and were informed, 
" J. B. was at Newcastle." She cheerfully said, "Let us go, let 
us go to him ; " but my brother being informed, " he would have 
nothing to do with her," dropped her at Mr. BelFs, two miles short 
of the town, and went forward himself to reconcile him to her. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



41 



53. The way by which he endeavoured to do this, was by 
laying all the blame upon me, as having used my whole art and 
authority to seduce another man's wife. This was the scope of all 
his discourse at Newcastle. The effect of what he and J. B. said 
(for they spoke just alike) was, that all in the house (unless one or 
two that were instant in prayer) were set on fire, filled with anger 
and confusion, and driven to their wit's end. S. Proctor would 
leave the house immediately ; John Whitford would preach with 
Mr. W. no more ; Mat. Errington dreamed the house itself was all 
in flames (and most certainly it was) ; another dreamer went a step 
further, and saw Mr. W. in hell fire ; Jane Keith was peremptory, 
" John W. is a child of the devil/' coming pretty near J. B. him- 
self, whose repeated words were, " If John W. is not damned, there 
is no God." 

54. When J. B. was so clearly convinced " the fault lay all in 
me," G. M. and he were brought together. She fell at his feet, 
acknowledged she had used him ill, and begged he would forgive 
her. To satisfy her entirely as to any scruple which might remain 
with regard to me, one was brought in to assure her, " I had given 
her up, and would have nothing more to say to her ; only I had 
ordered him to procure some place among the country-societies, 
where she might live privately." Upon this, one cried out, " Good 
God ! what will the world say ? He is tired of her, and so thrusts 
his Wh — into a corner. Sister M., will you consent to this ? " 
She answered, " No ; I will die first." So,, seeing no other way, 
she frankly declared, "I will have J. B,, if he will have me" 

55. On Tuesday morning, Oct. 3rd, they were married. They 
all then rode on contentedly to Leeds, to give me the meeting there, 
as well that I might have the pleasure of seeing the bride, as that 
I might acknowledge my sin (those were my brother's expressions), 
before J. B. and them all. 

56. But this I was not altogether ready to do ; neither did I appre- 
hend she desired my company any more ; till on Friday, Oct. 6th, 
I was informed, " Both J. B. and his wife desired to see me." I 
went ; but oh ! what an interview ! it was not soon that words 
could find their way. We sat weeping at each other, till I asked 
her, " What did you say to my brother, to make him accost me 
thus ? " She fell at my feet, and said " she never had spoken nor 
could speak against me," uttering many other words to the same 
effect, in the midst of numberless sighs and tears. Before she rose, 
he fell on his knees too, and asked my pardon for what he had 
spoken of me. Between them both I knew not what to say or do. 
I can forgive, but who can redress the wrong. 

57. After dinner I talked with her alone. She averred with the 
utmost emotion, being all dissolved in tears, that she never laid the 

6 



42 



NARRATIVE OF 



blame upon me, whom she knew to be entirely innocent ; that she 
would rather die than speak against one to whom she had so deep 
obligations ; that at the time I first spoke to her at Newcastle she 
loved me above all persons living ; that after her engagement with 
J. B. her heart was divided till she went to Ireland ; that then it was 
wholly with me, and from that time till J. B. met us at Ep worth ; 
that after his speaking she was divided again, till I talked with her 
upon the road, from which hour she loved me more and more, till 
we parted at Hineley Hill ; that, when my brother took her thence 
she thought he was carrying her to me ; that, when she knew more 
of his design, she told him, " I will do nothing till I have seen 
Mr. W." but that, when it was told her at Newcastle, among a 
thousand other things, " Mr. W. will have nothing to say to you," 
then she said, " Well, I will have Mr. B. if he will have me." If 
these things are so, hardly has such a case been from the begin- 
ning of the world ! 



JOHN WESLEY. 



43 



A SHORT ACCOUNT OF THE WHOLE I DREW UP A FEW 
DAYS AFTER IN THE FOLLOWING LINES, IN RIDING 
BETWEEN LEEDS AND NEWCASTLE. 



i. 

Lord ! I bow my sinful head ! 
Righteous are all thy ways with man ! 

Yet suffer me with Thee to plead, 

With lowly reverence to complain ; 
With deep unutter'd grief to groan : 
Oh ! what is this that Thou hast done ? 

ii. 

Oft as thro* giddy youth I roved, 
And danced along the flowery way, 

By chance or thoughtless passion moved, 
An easy, unsuspicious prey 

1 fell, while love's envenomed dart 
Thrilled thro' my veins and tore my heart. 

in. 

At length by sad experience taught, 
Firm I shook off the abject yoke, 

Abhorred his sweetly poisonous draught, 
Thro 5 all his wily fetters broke ; 

Fixt my desires on things above, 

And languished for celestial love. 

IV. 

Borne on the wings of sacred hope, 

Long had I soared and spurned the ground, 

When panting for the mountain- top, 
My soul a kindred spirit found ; 

By Heaven entrusted to my care, 

The daughter of my faith and prayer. 

v. 

In early dawn of life, serene, 

Mild, sweet, and tender was her mood, 
Her pleasing form spoke all within 

Soft and compassionately good, 
Listening to every wretch's care, 
Mixing with each her friendly tear. 



NARRATIVE OF 



VI. 

In dawn of life, to feed the poor, 
Glad she her little all bestowed, 

Wise to lay up a better store, 
And hasting to be rich in God ; 

God, whom she sought with early care, 

With reverence and with lowly fear. 

VII. 

Ere twice four years passed o'er her head, 
Her infant breast with love he filled, 

His gracious, glorious name revealed, 
Till sweetly forced her heart to yield, 

She groaned t' ascend Heaven's high abode, 

To die into the arms of God. 

VIII. 

Yet warm with youth and beauty's pride, 
Soon was her heedless soul betrayed, 

From Heaven her footsteps turned aside, 
O'er pleasure's flowery plains she strayed, 

Fondly the toys of earth she sought, 

And God was not in all her thought. 

IX. 

Not loDg. A messenger she saw, 
Sent forth glad tidings to proclaim, 

She heard with joy and wondering awe 
His cry, " Sinners, behold the Lamb." 

His eye her inmost nature shook, 

His word her heart in pieces broke. 

x. 

Her bosom heaved with labouring sighs, 
And groaned th' unutterable prayer ; 

As rivers from her streaming eyes, 
Fast flowed the never ceasing tear, 

Till Jesus spake, " Thy mourning's o'er ! 

Believe, rejoice, and weep no more ! " 

XI. 

She heard ; pure love her soul o'erflowed, 
Sorrow and sighing fled away ; 

With sacred zeal her spirit glowed, 
Panting His every word t' obey ; 

Her faith by plenteous fruits she showed, 

And all her works were wrought in God. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



XII. 

Nor works alone her faith approved ; 

Soon in affliction's furnace tried 
By him whom next to Heaven she loved, 

As silver seven times purified, 
Shone midst the flames her constant mind, 
Emerged, and left its dross behind. 

XIII. 

When death in freshest strength of years 
Her much loved friend tore from her breast, 

Awhile she poured her plaints and tears ; 
But quickly turning to her rest, 

" Thy Will be done " she meekly cried, 

" Suffice, for me the Saviour died." 

xiv. 

Then first I viewed with fixed regard 

Her artless tears in silence flow ; 
" For thee are better things prepared," 

I said, " Go forth with Jesus, go ; 
My Master's peace be on thy soul, 
Till perfect love shall make thee whole." 

xv. 

But, Oh ! what trials are in store 

For those whom God delights to bless ; 

Abandon' d soon to Satan's power, 
Sifted as wheat, from the abyss, 

The lowest deep, she groaned aloud, 

" Where is my joy, my hope, my God ? " 

XVI. 

In chains of horrid darkness bound, 
Torn by the dogs of hell she lay ; 

By fear and sin encompassed round, 
Anguish and pain and huge dismay, 

Till the loud, bitter cry out-broke, 

" My God, why hast thou me forsook ? " 

XVII. 

Yet bowing down her fainting head, 
And sinking to the gulf beneath, 

She flew to every sinner's aid, 

To snatch him from the sinner's death. 

" Though justly I am lost," she cried 

" Live thou ! for thee the Saviour died." 



NARRATIVE OF 



XVIII. 

But, when again his glory shone, 
When God anew unveiled his face, 

What heavenly zeal, what love unknown, 
What strong, unuttered tenderness ! 

For every soul her heart overflowed ! 

What longing to be spent for God ! 

XIX. 

I saw her run with winged speed 

In works of faith and labouring love ; 

I saw her glorious toil succeed, 

And showers of blessings from above 

Crowning her war-m effectual prayer, 

And glorified my God in her. 

XX. 

Yet while to all, her tender mind 
In streams of pure affection flowed 

To one by ties peculiar joined, 
One only less beloved than God, 

Myself, she said, " my soul I owe, 

My Guardian Angel here below." 

XXI. 

From heaven the grateful ardour came, 
Pure from the dross of low desire ; 

Well pleased I marked the guiltless frame, 
Nor dared to damp the sacred fire ; 

Heaven's choicest gift on man bestowed, 

Strengthening our hearts and hands in God. 

XXII. 

? T was now I bowed my aching head, 
While sickness shook the house of clay, 

Duteous she ran with humble speed, 
Love's tenderest offices to pay ; 

To ease my pain, to sooth my care, 

T' uphold my feeble hands in prayer. 

XXIII. 

Amazed I cried, " Surely for me 

A help prepared of Heaven thou art ! 

Thankful I take the gift from thee, 
O Lord, nor aught on earth shall part 

The souls, whom thou hast joined above 

In lasting bonds of sacred love." 



JOHN WESLEY. 



XXIV. 

Abashed she spake, " Oh, what is this, 

Far above all my boldest hope ! 
Can God, beyond my utmost wish, 

Thus lift his worthless handmaid up ? 
This only could my soul desire, 
This only (had I dared) require." 

XXV. 

From that glad hour, with growing love, 
Heaven's latest, dearest gift I viewed ; 

While pleased each moment to improve, 
We urged our way with strength renewed, 

Our one desire, our common aim, 

T' extol our gracious Master's name. 

XXVI. 

Companions now in weal and woe 
No power on earth could us divide, 

Nor summer's heat nor wintry snow 
Could tear my partner from my side ; 

Nor toil, nor weariness, nor pain, 

Nor horrors of the angry main. 

XXVII. 

Oft, (tho' as yet the nuptial tie 

Was not) clasping her hand in mine, 

" What force/' she said, " beneath the sky 
Can now our well-knit souls disjoin? 

With thee I'd go to India's coast, 

To worlds in distant oceans lost." 

XXVIII. 

Such was the friend, than life more dear, 
Whom in one luckless baleful hour, 

(For ever mentioned with a tear) 
The tempest's unresisted power ; 

(Oh, the unutterable smart !) 

Tore from my inly bleeding heart. 

XXIX. 

Unsearchable Thy judgments are, 

O Lord, a bottomless abyss ; 
Yet sure Thy love, Thy guardian care, 

O'er all Thy works extended is. 
Oh ! why didst Thou the blessing send ? 
Or why thus snatch away my friend? 



NARRATIVE OF 
XXX. 

What Thou hast done, I know not now, 
Suffice I shall hereafter know, 

Beneath Thy chastening hand I bow ; 
That still I live to Thee I owe. 

Oh, teach thy deeply-humbled son 

To say, " Father, Thy will be done." 

XXXI. 

Teach me from every pleasing snare 
To keep the issue of my heart ; 

Be thou my Love, my J oy, my Fear ; 
Thou my Eternal Portion art. 

Be thou my never-failing Friend, 

And love, oh, love me, to the end, 



APPENDIX.* 



JOHN WESLEY. 

As I meet occasionally with unobserved particulars of this extraor- 
dinary man, I think it well to have a place in my Collections in 
which I can enter them, and present them, as at one view, to any 
person who may hereafter be disposed to look with more critical 
attention than has ever yet been given to his history. 

I shall be content to place them here as they occur, anecdotically, 
and they may hereafter be arranged and systematized. 

His attachment to an engaging person, originally Grace Norman, 
but when he knew her, Grace Murray, a widow, is a remarkable 
event in his early life, on which his biographers have not been over- 
forward to throw a strong light, nor has he himself said much (if 
anything), about it in his Journal. Yet, if we may trust a MS. 
account of it which purports to have been written by himself, it is 
an important event in his life, and must have exercised no incon- 
siderable amount of influence on his public conduct, while he was 
living under the uncertainty of what he ought to do, and perhaps, 
we may say, trifling with the affections of an amiable woman, who, 
on her part, appears to have been not unwilling to have two strings 
to her bow, and who was obviously, through the whole time, very 
much disposed to a second settlement in life, not improperly so, or 
over-eagerly. 

This MS. is now in the British Museum, amongst those known 
as "Additional," and is number 7119. It is a small 12mo, beauti- 
fully written, extending from p. 1 to p. 105, after wLxch are four 
pages more, containing a poetical account of the affair in -Wesley's 
own hand, being a repetition of the poem which is incorporated in 
the prose narrative. The lettering on the back of the MS. is, — 
"John Weslev's Account of a Love- Affair. — Mus. Brit. Eoc legato 
N. Hart, 7119 Pint. CLIV. A." 



Respecting this, see Note at the end of the " Preliminary Remarks." 



50 



NARRATIVE OF 



There is the following account of the way in which it came to 
the Museum : — 

" This book, An Account of an Amour of John Wesley, the 
chief of the Methodist sect (copied by an Amanuensis) was 
given to me by Noah Yazielle, of Stratford, in co. Essex, 
whose mother had been married to the said J. W. and that 
the verses at the latter end are besides separate in this 
book, in the hand- writing of the said J. W. — Quod attestor 
Naphtaly Hart, noty. pubc. London, June 4?th, 1788." 
When Hart died, and it came by his will to the Museum, I do 
not at present know ; but this might be discovered without much 
difficulty * The above note, it will be perceived, was written in the 
life-time of Wesley, and in the life-time also of Grace, who lived to 
her 89th year, and died Feb. 23, 1803. 

I do not know that any reference is made to this MS. by writers 
on the life of Wesley, and I imagine that few persons knew of its 
existence till, in 1848, it was printed by Mr. Charles Hook, an 
elderly person, whose profession it is to copy manuscripts for gen- 
tlemen, and who spends the greater part of his life in the Reading 
Room at the Museum. John Russell Smith was his publisher, and 
the impression, which I think Hook told me was of 500 copies, 
were soon disposed of. It is an 8vo, of 53 pages. 

Mr. Hook, for what reason I know not, has kept back all 
information respecting the deposit of the MS. His title is this — 
" Narrative of a Remarkable Transaction in the Early Life of 
J ohn Wesley. From an Original Manuscript, in his own 
hand- writing, never before published." 
Now, it was neither right to withhold information where the MS. 
might be consulted, nor to state that it is in Wesley's own hand- 
writing, in the face of the memorandum which assigns it to an 
amanuensis. This is calculated to throw discredit upon it ; and the 
" Preliminary Remarks " which he makes are not calculated to 
establish the credit of the MS. since they consist of nothing more 
than the apposition of a few passgaes in Wesley's printed Journal, 
with which he shows that certain passages in the MS. are con- 
gruous : because, if it be a fiction, no doubt the author of it would 
take care that it was conformable in point of data and matter of 
fact to that with which it was certain it would be at once compared. 
These "Preliminary Remarks" are also, in a material point, at 

* Mr. E. Sims, of the MS. Department, Brit. Mus., has kindly furnished the pub- 
lisher with the following information : — " With respect to the Add. MS. 7119, it was 
bequeathed to the Trustees by Mr. jSapthaly Hart, of Camden Street, Islington, and 
received 9th May, 1829, together with seventeen others. The wording of the "Will is, 
" all my Common Place Books, lettered A — L, and also all the MSS. which I may 
be possessed of at the time of my decease." I cannot find any further account of him. 
The MS. in question had for many years been kept from the public eye by order of the 
Trustees, when Mr. Hook sought and obtained permission to copy it." 



JOHN WESLEY. 



51 



variance with his title-page, the editor stating that " the body of 
the work is a copy only." 

I know not that any suspicions are entertained of its genuineness, 
though I think it may be open to suspicion as to the prose part. 
But, in fact, I never heard any person speak of it except the editor ; 
and when I named it, Sept. 2nd, 1853, to Mr. John Holland, of 
Sheffield, who knows very much of the History of Methodism, I 
found that he had never heard of it, and he informed me that 
several things of the kind had been written, and, as I understood 
him, not as fictions professedly so, but to pass in the world as 
genuine history. 

If the verses be certainly in Wesley's own hand-writing, a point 
that may be easily determined, then I think that whatever can be 
collected from it must be regarded as so much matter of fact ; and 
if so, it would almost follow that the prose part of the MS. is also 
to be received as a genuine fragment of biography. The two are, 
however, to be considered apart, and as the portion of the higher 
authority, I shall take the verse first, and collect from it the facts 
which it contains. It is entitled — 

" A Short Account of the whole I drew up a few days after in 
the following lines : in riding between Leeds and New- 
castle.''-' 

He begins with an impassioned appeal to God, as a man suffering 
deeply in a disappointment, — " Oh ! what is this that Thou hast 
done ? " He then recalls his early life, in which he charges himself 
with having been of an amorous disposition, till at length he had 

Fix'd his desires on things above, 
And languished for celestial love. 

While in this frame, he found a kindred spirit by heaven entrusted 
to his care, — " The daughter of my faith and prayer.-" He then 
dwells on her perfections, earthly and spiritual, her early piety, her 
falling off to the love of pleasure, her recovery by the voice of a 
preacher, her joy in the Lord, her afflictions, particularly in the loss 
of her husband at an early period of her life, his own comforting of 
her, her despondency and recovery from it, her zeal and religious 
love, her efforts of charity under his own observation. He then 
touches upon her owning a peculiar affection for himself, her atten- 
tion to him in sickness, his confident feeling that she was ordained 
of heaven a help- mate for him, and his acceptance of her as such. 
He makes her a distinct offer, which she accepts with expressions of 
thankfulness to heaven. They now became constant companions 
engaged in the same works, and he receives from her strong and 
repeated assurances of her fondness for him. Then in the 28th 
stanza, his woe when she was torn from his bleeding heart, and the 
poem ends with an expression of religious submission. 



5-2 



NARRATIVE OF 



Let us now go to the prose story, which we are to receive as 
written by himself, but of which only a copy exists. 

In June, 1748. at a Conference in London, the question of 
ministers' marriages was debated, and he was convinced that a 
Believer might marry. 

[Let us just observe dates. Wesley was born June 17, 1703, so 
that he was then 45. Grace Murray was born January 23, 1715, 
and so aged 33.] 

In August, 1748, Wesley was taken ill at Newcastle, when she 
attended him continually. He, in fact, when recovered, proposes to 
her, and she frankly accepts; and when he leaves Newcastle, he 
assures her that he regards her as one whom God had given him to 
be a help-mate, and that, though they must then part, he trusted 
that they should meet to part no more : that he would take her 
with him to Ireland. She objects to their being separated, and he 
takes her with him in his journies through Yorkshire and Derby- 
shire, and found her unspeakably useful in the Societies. He at 
length leaves her in Cheshire with J[ohn] Bennet [who was one of 
his Preachers.] 

[It appears by the Journal, that this sickness was at the most of 
only three days duration — 4th, 5th, and 6th of August. On the 4th, 
however, he was able to preach at Spen, and on the 5th at Horsley, 
and he preached again on the 7th. He travelled about in the 
neighbourhood of Newcastle, till the 16th, when he left it for York- 
shire and Lancashire; and at the end of the month he was at 
Chinley, where John Bennet lived. On Sept. 2nd, he set out for the 
West, and came round to London. In January he was in London, 
thinking of answering Middleton's book against the Fathers, and of 
a journey to Holland. But he goes into Wales, where he marries 
his brother to Sarah Gwynne, and April 15, goes on board for 
Ireland, where he remains till July 20, that is 1749.] 

He had left Grace we see with Bennet ; and not long after, ac- 
cording to the MS., he receives a letter from Bennet, asking his 
consent that he should marry the lady. She also writes that she 
believes it is the will of God. Hence, says he, I date her fall. 
Wesley writes a mild answer, supposing that the marriage had taken 
place. She replied in so affectionate a manner, that he thought the 
whole design was at an end. Wesley was afterwards told by Bennet 
himself, that sh*e had assured him there was no contract between 
her and Mr. Wesley, as he had suspected there was. 

The difficulty here is to find a justification for her conduct. 
Wesley writes to her, and she answers that she would live and die 
with him. Bennet writes to her, and she answers in the tenderest 
manner; and particularly in Februaiy, that "if he loved her he 
must meet her at Sheffield, for she was sent for to Ireland, and if 



JOHN WESLEY. 



53 



he did not come now, she could not answer for what might follow." 
Wesley writes as if he had an honourable regard for her and saw 
the excuse of which her conduct admitted. 

Bennet was prevented, by the unexpected death of a brother-in- 
law, from meeting her at Sheffield. So Grace, seeing nothing of 
him, comes on to Bristol, where Wesley then was. This seems, by 
comparison with the Diary, to have been in October, 1748. In this 
singular state of affairs, she spoke unreservedly of what had passed 
between her and Bennet, expressed her opinion that the contract 
she had made with him was binding, that she had thought it im- 
possible that a marriage with Wesley could ever take place ; but 
Wesley urged upon her that the contract with him was binding, and 
she becomes convinced that it was so. 

[One of the remarkable circumstances of the case, is the rapidity 
with which these important events follow one another. The illness, 
and Wesley's declaration, 4-Gth August. He leaves her with 
Bennet, probably early in September. She receives Bennetts 
addresses, accepts him, leaves him, and goes to Wesley, at Bristol, 
in October.] 

When Wesley went to Ireland, she accompanied him as a servant, 
friend, and fellow-labourer in the Gospel. His affection for her 
increased, and they were even contracted by a contract de presenti. 
Her correspondence with Bennet was wholly discontinued, and the 
affair was thought to be over. She returned with him to Bristol in 
September, 1749. Here she "hears some idle tales concerning me 
and Molly Francis," and in a sudden vehement fit of jealousy, writes 
a loving letter to Bennet. She tells this to Wesley. Bennetts 
passion revives, and he writes her word that he would meet her 
when she came into the North. When Wesley removed from Bristol 
to London, she accompanied him ; and there, dropping an expres- 
sion of Wesley's intentions to a Mr. M., he strongly advises her to 
think no more of it as a thing that ought not to be. 

Soon after, they set out together for the North ; and at Epworth, 
Bennet met them. 

[It appears, from the Diary, that Wesley was in that neighbour- 
hood from 29 August to 3 Sept. 1749.] 

Wesley speaks freely with Bennet, and learns from him, that she 
had sent to him all his letters. This led him to think that Bennet 
had the best right to her, and that they should marry without delay. 
He writes to her that he thought it was not proper she and I should 
converse any more together. A curious scene now comes on. She 
begged him not to say so unless he meant to kill her, using many 
other tender expressions. Wesley is much distressed, and before he 
had recovered himself, Bennet came in. He claimed her as his 
right. With much reluctance, he determines to give up all interest 



54 



NARRATIVE OF 



in her to Bennet, and leaves her in great anguish of his spirit. At 
two o'clock, word is brought to him, that Sister Murray is exceed- 
ingly ill, and obliged to keep her bed. Whereupon he visits her, 
and she tells him she loves no oue so well as him, a thousand times 
better than she loves Bennet, but she is afraid, if she does not marry 
him, he will run mad, and showed a letter she had just received con- 
firming that fear. In the evening Bennet came, and David Trathen, 
and they both urged her, till at length she said, " I will marry J. 
Bennet/' But on the next morning, she tells all to Wesley, who 
was still more strongly convinced of her true affection for him, and 
of the pre-contract with him. On Wednesday, Sept. 6, he put it 
home to her, Which will you choose ? when she declared again and 
again, <( I am determined by conscience as well as inclination, to 
live and die with you." 

[It is curious and interesting to compare with this strange state 
of his private affairs, the account in his Journal, of his public con- 
duct. He travelled on this 6th of September, from Osmotherley 
to Newcastle, where he remained on the Thursday, leaving New- 
castle on Friday, for Morpeth. At Newcastle he preached two 
evenings and two mornings.] 

How he was employed on the 7th, we learn from the MS. where 
is a long letter addressed to Bennet, dated, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 
Sept. 7, 1749. In this, he remonstrates strongly with Bennet, 
avows his intention to have married her, which has been frustrated 
by him in an interval in which he intended to consult his brother. 
Bennet had paid some attention to her while she was in Mr.Wesley's 
service, in the house at Newcastle, where Bennet was also^ and when 
he left her with Bennet, in three days he solicited her again, and in 
a few days more, prevailed with her to promise him marriage. 

[This letter appears to me genuine. If a fiction, it is one of the 
cleverest I ever read. But I cannot but think that Wesley dealt 
hardly with his humbler companion, whose conduct in the whole 
affair, does not appear to me to be in any degree blameworthy. 
Grace's conduct and Wesley's conduct are less easily justified or 
excused.] 

This letter never reached Bennet. William Shent had promised 
to deliver it, but never did so. 

She also wrote to Bennet, telling him she was convinced they 
had both sinned in entering on any engagement at all, without Mr. 
Wesley's knowledge. [This is a sort of sin which I do not under- 
stand.] 

Friday, Sept. 8, Wesley and she set out together towards Berwick, 
visiting the intermediate Societies. She gives fresh proof of her 
usefulness and her affection, "yet I would not consent to her re- 
peated request, to marry immediately." [Poor young woman ! This 



JOHN WESLEY. 



55 



was clearly a course to which Wesley had no right to offer any 
exception if she chose to run the risk of the odium which might 
attend her treatment of Bennet. It is a curious complicated case, 
very unlike fiction, and I am persuaded of the genuineness of the 
short narrative] . Now see the reasons which Wesley gives for not 
complying. — (1) He must satisfy J. Bennet. (2) He must procure 
his brother's assent. (3) He must send an account of the reasons 
for the step to every helper and every Society in England, desiring 
their prayers. She said she should not be willing to stay above a 
year. I replied, perhaps less time will suffice. [I cannot but regard 
Wesley's conduct in this, with a feeling of strong disapprobation. 
He was depriving her of a very suitable settlement; he was keeping 
himself in the position of being willing to marry, or free to refuse, 
and not one of his three reasons will bear a close examination. He 
knew he could not satisfy J. Bennet. There was no necessity for 
a man of his age to ask the consent of a brother. He might use the 
third as an instrument for delay, at least as it was probable opinions 
would be divided. I don't think his conduct was honorable or 

At Berwick he continues his tantalizing course : and yet, on the 
9th, he [wretch !] preaches on Come unto me ye that are weary 
and heavy laden, and I will give you rest," when at the same time 
he was plaguing the heart out of an afflicted and affectionate young 
woman. It further appears from his Diary that, on the 1 1th and 
12th, he was employed in writing, yet he spoke searching words to 
an earnestly attentive congregation ; and on the 13th, he had "a 
delightful opportunity of describing and comforting the broken in 
heart." 

The MS. shows us what he was writing. It was " The more 
remarkable passages of this young woman's life." This account 
corresponds well with the verses. [It was abominable that Wesley 
should engage her to inform him of all these private matters, unless 
he had fully made up his mind to marry her, and that immediately.] 
She seems to have been rather a forward girl, for at sixteen she was 
engaged in a love affair. She went to London to a sister in 1734, 
got in service there, and on May 13th, 1736, she married Mr. 
Murray, who in three or four days went to sea and was absent ten 
or eleven months, when she went to her parents. Had a miscar- 
riage ; joined him again in London ; and was with him four months 
before he went to sea again. He left her with child, which was not 
born till after his return. She lives for some time at Portsmouth. 
Returns to London. Heard Mr. Whitefield and Mr. Wesley : be- 
came a zealous convert. Her state alarms her sister and her hus- 
band, who talk of placing her in a lunatic asylum in West Gardens. 
But he becomes reconciled to the course she was taking ; she is 



56 



NARRATIVE OF 



unwell; goes to Newcastle — her native air; her husband goes 
again to sea. Her father dies. In the beginning of 1741 her 
husband (who was returned) and she go from Newcastle to London. 
In or about May, 1742, Mr. Murray was drowned. Soon after she 
goes down to Newcastle and meets Mr. Wesley there. She then 
engages herself more particularly in his service for religious and 
charitable work; is appointed a leader of several classes. Mr. 
Wesley instructs her to go to London to bring down the best of 
her goods that she might live altogether in his house. She had 
taken her passage when a note is delivered to her from Mr. Wesley 
desiring she would stay in London when she was there. She had 
been falsely accused of slandering another woman. John Brydon 
at this time admired her. There was no engagement, yet it was 
commonly supposed she was on the point of marrying. In April, 
1743, Wesley returned to London. She came thither soon after. 
Returned to Newcastle in August ; lived a year in Wesley's family. 
Disliked S. Jackson, who appears to have been a fellow-servant. 
She leaves the place. John Brydon marries some one else. She 
tells Mr. Wesley a number of private circumstances in her religious 
history. 

There are many particulars, not very material. She tells Mr. 
Wesley that Mr. Bennet proposed marriage to her the day after 
Mr. Wesley had left her ; and that a day or two after she consented. 

It is a long story filling from p. 14 to 32 1 of Mr. Hook's pub- 
lication, and some part of it seems as if it could hardly have been 
written down from her dictation. 

They remained in Berwick from Saturday to Thursday. She 
now treated him with the utmost confidence, frequently saying, 
" God has united us for ever." Wesley was hourly receiving from 
her strong proofs of her affection. At Newcastle he made in- 
quiries about her " from all those who were disgusted at her, and 
inquired into their reasons for it." [Odious Man.] It is an ex- 
traordinary picture of half the women, who formed the Methodist 
society in this one of its head-quarters. — Petty, gossipping, ill- 
natured creatures. 

On the 20th, Wesley tells the whole affair to Christopher Hooper, 
who undertakes to go to Chinley and try if he could not satisfy 
Bennet. At her request the contract made at Dublin is renewed. 
This was a formal affair, in the presence of witnesses. An hour 
after, Wesley left her to look after the classes, while he rode away 
to Whitehaven. [I think nothing can be more abominable than 
his treatment of her.] " She stood looking after me till I was up 
the hill." This contract took place at Hineley Hill. B. Hopper 
was a witness, and I suppose Mr. Perronet, as it appears from the 

1 pp. 10 to 27 of present edition. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



57 



Journal that he was there. The date was Thursday, the 21st of 
Sept ember , and yet on Saturday following he begins a letter from 
Whitehaven, " There is, I know not what, a sad presage that tells 
me we shall never meet again." [I hope the letter was not 
sent.] 

He sent a copy of his letter to Bennet to his brother, the day 
after it was written. His brother was shocked at the thought that 
he was about to marry at all, but especially that he should think 
of marrying a servant, and one so lowly born; said it would 
appear shocking to all mankind, and would break up the Societies. 
The brother came down at once from Bristol to Leeds, when 
Robert Swindells and William Shent tell him that Grace Murray 
is engaged to Mr. Bennet. This angers him more, and he proceeds 
forward to Newcastle, taking with him Shent, who is as angry as 
himself. Here the brother meets Jane Keith, " a woman of strong 
sense and exquisite subtilty/'' long prejudiced against Grace 
Murray. She told him that Mr. Wesley was in love with her 
beyond all sense and reason. That he had shown it in the most 
public manner, and had avowed it to all the Society, and that all 
the town was in an uproar, and all the Societies ready to fly in 
pieces. His brother believing this, flies on with Shent to White- 
haven, expecting to find Wesley and Grace together. Wesley says 
he was not surprised when he saw him. The brother urged that 
all the Preachers would leave them and the Societies be broken up 
if he married so mean a woman, and that she was pre-engaged to 
J. Bennet. Wesley says that he looked to qualifications, not birth ; 
and that he knew she was pre-engaged to him ; but he seems to 
have said little, but to have proposed that the whole subject should 
be referred to Mr. Pert, to which the brother consented. 

[The MS. is badly edited. The reasons he gives for marrying 
Grace, to prepare himself for the reference, end at " proper as this " 
at p. 40. 1 Then begins the narrative again.] 

The brother spoken of was Charles, not Samuel. 

September 26th and 27th, he goes from Whitehaven to Hineley 
Hill to preach. Hannah Broadwood, at whose house Wesley had 
left Grace, met him at a little distance from it, and told him that 
Mr. Charles had left two hours since and carried her behind him. 
They seem to have taken her to Newcastle. Wesley does not 
follow, but goes to Whitehaven for a preaching purpose, which 
place he reached on Saturday, the 30th of September. 

On Monday, October 2nd, he received a letter from Mr. White- 
field pressing him to meet his brother and him at Leeds on Wednes- 
day evening. At nine on Wednesday evening he reached Leeds. 
Here he found not his brother, only Mr. Whitefield, " who told me 

1 Present edition, p. 35. 



58 



NARRATIVE OF 



my brother would not come till Mr. Bennet and Grace Murray were 
married. I was troubled. Thursday, the 5th, about eight, one came 
in from Newcastle and told me they were married on Tuesday. 
My brother came an hour after." The brother appears to have 
behaved exceedingly ill. Whitefield and Nelson sought to compose 
matters, praying, crying, and entreating, till the storm passed 
away. J. B., which must be Bennet, then came in. Neither of 
them could speak, but kissed each other and wept. 

He then gives an account of what had been Grace's course in 
the few days which had passed since he left her at Hineley Hill. 
She had quite dismissed all thoughts of Bennet. On the Monday 
she wrote to S. Proctor, "If Mr. Bennet comes to Newcastle 
write to him immediately, for I must not see him ; it will tear my 
soul to pieces, seeing I can by no means help him now ; for whom 
God hath joined no man can put asunder." On Tuesday, the 26th, 
she was much in prayer and appeared exceedingly thankful to God, 
and more fixed every hour to live and die with me. On the 27th 
she was exceedingly troubled at my letter from Whitehaven. [Well 
she might be, poor soul!] About eleven my brother came; he 
kissed her, and said, " Grace Murray, you have broken my heart." 
Then he dropped down. Soon after the brother put into her hands a 
letter written the day before, of which a copy is given. It contains 
the usual argument against the marriage — her pre-contract with 
Bennet. She receives it as if written with John's consent, and so 
it cut off all hope of him. The brother asks her, "Are you willing 
to go with me to Leeds, to meet my brother and John Bennet 
there?" She consented. At one he took her behind him and set 
out. At first he designed to go by way of Newcastle, but they 
turned out of the Newcastle-road and made straight for Durham ; 
but in a little time they lost their way, and were glad to lodge at 
T. Brown's, at Newland. Here she had a restless night. 

In the morning they rode on to Ferry Hill, and were informed 
Bennet was at Newcastle. She cheerfully said, " Let us go — let 
us go to him !" But my brother being informed he had said he 
would have nothing to do with her, dropped her at Mr. Bell's, two 
miles short of the town, and went forward himself to reconcile him 
to her. 

This he did by laying the whole blame upon Wesley, as having 
used art to seduce another man's wife. A strange scene amongst 
them all at Newcastle. 

When Bennet was convinced the whole fault was mine, Grace 
and I were brought together. She fell at his feet, acknowledged 
that she had used him ill, and begged he would forgive her. A 
person was brought in who said I had given her up, and would have 
nothing more to say to her, only I had ordered him to procure 



JOHN WESLEY. 



59 



some place among the country societies where she might live 
privately. Upon this, some cried out, " Good God ! what will 
the world say? He is tired of her, and so thrusts his whore 
into a corner. Sister Murray will you consent to this V [What 
rascals these Methodists were.] She answered, " No ! I will die 
first/' So seeing no other way, she frankly declared, "I will 
have John Bennet if he will have me." On Tuesday morning, 
October 3rd, they were married. They all then rode on contentedly 
to Leeds to give me the meeting there, as well that I might have 
the pleasure of seeing the bride as that I might acknowledge my 
sin (those were my brother's expressions) before Mr. Bennet and 
them all. 

But this I was not ready to do ; neither did I apprehend that 
she desired my company any more, till on Friday, October 6th, I 
was informed both John Bennet and his wife desired to see me. 
He went. A strange interview ; all weeping and praying. 

Mr. Wesley ended with saying, " Hardly has such a case been 
from the beginning of the world." 

He may justly say so, for it is a very remarkable case in many 
points of view. 

I have now not the least doubt that the MS. is perfectly genuine. 
In all probability, in the disputes between Wesley and his wife it 
was taken possession of by the VazelFs — perhaps stolen by them — 
and possibly, also, with the idea that it might be said to prove such 
a pre-contract as would vitiate his marriage with Mrs. Vazell ; or 
at least to show that Mrs. Vazell was not the only woman whose 
confidence he had abused. 

It appears by the Journal that, on Monday, the 9th, and Tuesday, 
the 10th, he returned from Leeds to Newcastle, where it was that 
he composed the verses in which is an epitome of the whole affair. 
In 1803 there was printed at Macclesfield by G. Bay ley, a 
small 8vo. volume, entitled " Memoirs of Mrs. Grace 
Bennet, lately deceased, relict of the Rev. John Bennet, of 
Chinley, Derbyshire, interspersed with some account of the 
Ministry and Death of Mr. Bennet ; to which are subjoined 
extracts from her Diary, and a brief account of her Death, 
February 23rd, 1803, in the Eighty-ninth year of her age/' 
By William Bennet. 
He dates an Advertisement prefixed. " Stodard, August 26th, 
1803." He gives as a reason for the publishing such a book, that a 
note was found among his mother's papers addressed to him, in 
May, 1798, in which she says that she had left behind some broken 
hints of her life for him to do with as he should see good. This 
would seem to promise something valuable, but it is one of the 
poorest books of its class. 



60 



NARRATIVE OF 



The writer tells us that she was the daughter of Robert and 
Grace Norman, of Newcastle, Member of the Church of England, 
and born there 23rd January, 1715. The brief narrative which 
she left behind her must have been pretty much the same as that 
which she gave to Mr. Wesley. Here it is not so particular. 
At twenty-one she married Mr. Alexander Murray, nearly related to 
a considerable family in Scotland. His father had been concerned 
in the Rebellion of 1715, and was forfeited and banished. Alex- 
ander betook himself to a sea-faring life. 

Mr. Bennet, it appears, was twenty-six when in Grace Murray's 
charge during an illness in the summer of 1746. Mention is made 
of her travelling on business of the Societies in the Northern 
Counties and in Ireland ; but it is supposed that she travelled in 
company with Wesley, and it is said as a blind, and it would appear 
to have been by his directions. 

On October 3rd, 1749, she was married in the Parish Church of 
St. Andrew, Newcastle, to Rev. John Bennet, of Chinley, in the 
presence of Rev. George Whitefield and Rev. Charles Wesley ; but 
nothing is said of the extraordinary circumstances of the wedding. 

Mr. Bennet was at that time a preacher in Mr. Wesley's con- 
nection, and superintended a large circuit in Yorkshire, Lancashire, 
Cheshire, and Derbyshire, in which it appears from a letter by 
him to Mr. Wesley, dated March 6th, 1750, that he rode nearly 
200 miles every fortnight. Some diversities of religious opinion 
sprung up between him and Wesley, and they publicly separated 
at Boston, in Lincolnshire, April 3rd, 1752. 

Bennet having been instructed in Divinity, studied under Dr. 
Latham at Eindern for a little while ; and giving up all thoughts 
of the Ministry, he became clerk to R. Bagshaw, Esq., a Justice of 
the Peace, which office he held till he was twenty-two. He then 
engaged in some business. In 1739, when about twenty-five, being 
at Sheffield, he was invited to hear David Taylor, an itinerant 
preacher out of Lancashire. He was struck with what he heard, 
and invited Taylor to visit the Peak, and travelled about with him 
there. Soon after this he became acquainted with Benjamin 
Ingham, of Aberford, whom also he introduced into Derbyshire, 
and travelled with him ; so that he was the first instrument in 
bringing out some, afterwards called Methodists, into Derbyshire. 
He soon became thoroughly converted, and devoted himself wholly 
to ministerial work. June 2nd, 1742, he first heard John Wesley. 
It was at Dewsbury, and the next day he was introduced to him by 
John Nelson at Mirfield. April 15th, 1743, meeting Mr. John 
Wesley near Chesterfield, he was invited by him to London, Bristol, 
or Newcastle, and from that time entered into close connection 
with him as a preacher among the Methodists. 



JOHN WESLEY. 



61 



Not a word is said of the struggle between him and Wesley for 
Grace Murray ; and the only allusion to anything of the kind is at 
p. 17, where it is said, "Few characters were more esteemed 
throughout all Mr. Wesley's connection than the subject of these 
Memoirs, and in real usefulness she equalled most of his preachers. 
He was wont to call her his right-hand, and there is good reason to 
believe that he intended to have married her." 

The severance of her husband from Mr. Wesley was a great grief 
to her. The points of difference were on the imputation of the 
righteousness of Christ to believers as the only ground of their 
justification before God, which Mr. Bennet openly avowed, "to- 
gether with some other occasion for uneasiness which need not here 
be repeated." There is a good notice of this in Wesley's Journal 
under March 31st in that year, Wesley says, " I have not been 
in connection with him these three years, neither will I be any 
more." This three years carries us back to March, 1749, six 
months and more before Bennet and Grace married. 

The Memoir goes on to say that this separation was a great grief 
to Grace, who had the highest veneration for the character of Mr. 
Wesley, whom she always honoured as her spiritual father, though 
she thought his conduct on that occasion highly reprehensible. 
She was then also a warm stickler for universal redemption, free 
will, &c, which were topics of a warm controversy at the time 
between Mr. Wesley and Mr. Whitefield, Mr. Bennet siding with 
the latter. In time she saw reason to embrace what was called 
Calvanistic views of Gospel doctrines. Not fond, however, of 
controversy. 

Mr. Bennet with a young family, now found travelling incon- 
venient, and in 1754 a Meeting-house was erected for him at 
Warburton, in Cheshire, where an Independent Society was pur- 
posely organised, and he was appointed Pastor. Here he continued 
his Ministerial labours every Lord's day, generally preaching four 
or five times in the week, besides, in places at some distance ; but 
in 1759 he became seriously ill, and after lying in that state thirty- 
six weeks, died on May 24th. 

Grace was left with five sons, the eldest not eight years old. 
She had many trials. She lived a very religious life, and was an 
excellent mother. Improved herself much by reading. Had weekly 
prayer-meetings at her house, and encouraged ministers to come 
and preach there. Paid attention to her sick neighbours. 

She lived in what her son calls a " sequestered vale but when 
those of her children who lived were grown up, she left it and 
settled in the town of Chapel le Frith, where, after some time, she 
again entered into society with the people called Methodists in 
Mr. Wesley's connection, and had regular weekly class-meetings 
in her house. 



62 NARRATIVE OF JOHN WESLEY. 

In 1792 she began to keep a Diary, which she continued to 
1800, when her eye-sight failed. 

Then follow extracts from her Diary; matters of feeling and 
opinion, not facts, and too like all writings of this kind. 

We have an account of her pious end*; and at the close, a hymn 
of her composing. 

In 1849 the JournaFof Charles Wesley was printed. The editor 
has suppressed the part from September 15th, 1749, when the 
writer was ill with a sore throat, to October 22nd, when he was 
at Bristol. This looks disingenious, and it is not atoned for by 
the note at vol i, p. 224, where is a letter to Grace Murray (May, 
1740). "To this lady Mr. Wesley afterwards made an offer of 
marriage. She was prevailed upon by Mr. Charles Wesley to 
marry John Bennet, one of the Itinerant Preachers." This 
Journal corroborates the MS. incidentally. Indeed, there can be 
no doubt of its genuineness. The handwriting of the poem shows it 
to be Wesley's, and the corrections and interlineations that it is a 
first or second draft. I saw it this day in the Museum, September 
12th, 1853. 



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NARRATIVE 



OF A 

REMARKABLE TRANSACTION 

IN THE EARLY LIFE OF 

y 

JOHN WESLEY. 

FROM AN ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 

IX HIS OWN HANDWRITING, NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. 

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TO WHICH 18 ADDED, 

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Criticisms upon, Analysis of, and Extracts from, curious, 
useful, valuable, and scarce Old Books. 8vo, vols. 1 and 2 
(all printed) cloth. 10s. 6d. (original price £1 Is.) 1853-4. 

These two volumes form a good companion to the old series of the Retro- 
spective, in 16 vols. ; the articles are of the same length and character. 

CONTRIBUTIONS TO LITERATURE, Historical, Antiquarian, 
and Metrical. By Mark Antony Lower, M.A., E.S.A., 
Author of " Essays on English Surnames/' " Curiosities of 
Heraldry," &c. Post 8vo, woodcuts, cloth. 7s. 6d. 

Contents : —1. Local Nomenclature. 2. The Battle of Hastings, an His- 
torical Essay. 3. The Lord Dacre, his mournful end ; a Ballad. 4. His- 
torical and Areha3ological Memoir on the Iron works of the South of England, 
with numerous illustrations. 5. Winchelsea's Deliverance, or the Stout Abbot 
of Battavle; in Three Fyttes. 6. The South Downs, a Sketch ; Historical, 
Anecdotical, and Descriptive. 7. On Yew Trees in Churchyards. 8. A 
Lyttel Geste of a Grreate Eele ; a pleasant Ballade. 9. A Discourse of 
Genealogy. 10. An Antiquarian Pilgrimage in Normandy, with tvoodcuts. 
11. Miscellanea, &c. &c. &c. 

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Roberts. 2 vols, post 8vo, plates and cuts, cloth. %s. 6d. 
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